Providence
by ErieDragon
Summary: A series of random events. An unusual, thrillseeking night elf, and the troll managing his way through it. He wonders if it is merely coincidence, or fate, and finds that in the end, it doesn't matter either way.
1. Part One: Chapter One

_Darn you, FF dot net and your not allowing NC-17-ness. It will be a chore to make this suitable for "Mature" or "T." What is up with these new ratings, anyway? Bah. I was rather disappointed to find there were lots of stories of trolls and elves out there after I had already written half of this. Ah well. Enjoy._

**Providence**

**Part One**

**Chapter One**

_Plink_. A few bits of copper fell into the grass. _Plink_. There was a sound of wire snapping and a curse ensued. _Plink. Plink. Plink._

Hanzar slapped his knee tossed his contraption into the grass. "Bah! This is ridiculous. These blueprints are just too difficult," he said with a slight lisp when he licked one tusk in irritation. The odd mechanical thing twitched on the ground and sputtered. The troll kicked at it with a two-toed foot and squinted when the metal wires pinched him.

A low groan came from the large pile of fur and armor lying a few feet away. Hanzar got to his feet and wiped the dirt from his light blue skin, then proceeded to kick his sleeping friend. The tauren moved a little, but seemed no closer to consciousness. "Banik, let's go." Landing another kick right in the big animal's hide, Hanzar adjusted his mail and fixed his bags into place around his waist. The unfinished mechanical squirrel lay forgotten. When the tauren did come to life, he dragged his weight up only with significant effort and faced his friend.

"Ready, Ban? I'm in the mood to kill." The troll rubbed one curved tusk. "Then, when we're done killing, I'm going to shop for a new sword." Banik stared lazily, not showing a single drop of emotion on his large, furry face.

"Okay," he replied in his usual low, grumbling tone. Tauren Orcish was rather difficult to understand, but Hanzar had long become used to the thick, heavy tones of his friend's voice.

Though the beating sun of midday had long proven an opponent to comfortable travel, the desolate mountains of Stonetalon were pleasant that day. The pair had gone there early in their careers to kill the vile harpies and practice cleaning their blades of blood at the peak, and returned now for the sole purpose of seeking out fortune and fame. What had once been almost completely uncontested Horde territory had become victim to an infestation of Alliance scum, who paraded around in their fancy clothes and declared their fight for righteousness and justice—or whatever it was they did, Hanzar never really paid attention. They were pests to the two warriors, and like rats, it was only their fate to be annihilated. The troll was comforted by this analogy.

They passed by a deep ravine, one which Hanzar knew led to the Charred Vale, and on a whim he decided to overlook the opportunity for mining gold veins—his sights were set on the uppity dryads of the peak and all the young, keen humans waiting to be slaughtered. The troll had every grudge against the humans, though he didn't mind the occasional punting of a gnome. He licked his lips when he thought of the yellow-haired human grunt he had put his dull blade through just the other day.

Banik stopped suddenly, and Hanzar took a moment to stop as well and look at his friend. He looked curiously at the tauren that stared around as if the breeze had blown wrong about his ears. "What are you spacing out about now, Ban?" He stalked over and whapped the big ox on the arm. He was about to say more when Banik put one thick finger to his mouth and made a low noise. The breeze squealed lightly against the rocks overhead and then Hanzar saw it—a shadow, circling them, moving slowly but surely and stopping only to breathe. The tauren and troll locked eyes, and suddenly Hanzar was gripping a wiry night elf in one large hand.

What was obviously a stream of curses erupted from the creature, whose body was slowly returning to normal view. She almost wriggled herself free from the troll's grasp when she stomped down on his big toe, but Hanzar quickly grabbed her other arm, as well, and held her out for Banik to see.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, laughing some. "A rogue trying to catch us off-guard, are you? Thought you could take two of us at once because you're so good at walking in the shadows?" Banik let out his usual bellowing giggle. It was an odd sound. "Well, after we decide who gets to kill you, we'll see how well you can hide!" Hanzar laughed again as the rogue tried to stab at his arm with the dagger she still held in her captive hand. Without much effort he lifted the elf by her two hands and held her up so her feet dangled. She moved to kick him, but he held her away so she only struggled in mid-air.

"Kill with hammer," Banik grumbled out while he peeled his two-handed mace off his harness. "Pretty elf blood!"

Hanzar looked at the cute thing and said, "indeed." Her skin was a dark pink, almost red, and her blue hair was short and wild around her face. Her mouth and nose were covered by a red mask that she had obviously stolen from the corpse of some low-class thief. Her glowing eyes were decorated by deep blue, almost silvery markings, and her roguish looks were complimented by her mismatched, patched clothes and large black boots. She let out a growl when Hanzar dropped her back to the ground, confiscating both her tiny wrists to the grasp of one hand. He used the other to draw his sword and hold it to her throat. She looked absolutely wild and rabid, like a caught beast with a mad disease. Her body was so slender she reminded him almost of a boy.

"How? I want to," Banik said and held the immense hammer like it was a twig. He rotated it in one hand. "I want to kill it, Hanz."

"Just a moment," the troll replied thoughtfully as she struggled in his grasp. He had a feeling that if he let go of her, she could easily drive her rather nasty-looking dagger right into his chest. He was in no mood for mortal wounds. "I think this could prove useful for us."

Banik gave him a curious look. "Come on. You dangle this pretty thing from a ledge with a knife at her throat, don't you think some big boy elf will come for her? We could kill quite a few antisocial elf pests with one stone," he told his friend. The arms warrior slowly nodded his head. Hanzar leaned down to look in the woman's small face. "Are you scared of the big bad tauren?" When she made no reply, he shook her. She merely sputtered something in her odd tongue and the troll laughed. While he looked at Banik for his reaction, the elf suddenly tilted her dagger just right and dragged the jagged point right into the exposed skin of his hand. Reflexively his fingers released her and as she dropped to the ground, both her sword and dagger instantly drawn, Banik's gun was at her head.

The situation had quite suddenly turned nasty; Hanzar raised both hands, the tall, muscled troll at the mercy of a rather psychotic-looking, well-equipped night elf, whose only restraint was possibly the cost of her life. Hanzar knew that should any gun be fired, she could rip out his heart and eat it in the time it took for one of Banik's hand-crafted bullets to impale her brain. At the same time, however, if she made a move, she was guaranteed death—the only matter of the situation that worried Hanzar was whether or not the wild creature placed any value at all in her own life. If she had managed to stab him from behind, the troll thought, neither he nor his hairy friend would still be standing. It was an unpleasant thought.

"Okay, elfie," Hanzar said in the softest tone he could manage. "We can be reasonable about this." She only stared at him. He had never quite considered the language barrier before, for he always killed first and asked questions later. His knowledge of Common was limited to "die" and "eat dirt, you human scum," and the elfish language was beyond anything he cared to even contemplate. He would have to do something rash, something unexpected to diffuse the situation.

So he did.

Hanzar slowly dropped his left hand to his side and dropped the sword he still held. He was capitulating, and she would have to do the same if she planned to live. If not, he was doomed, but he supposed he would be all right with that if Banik landed his shot—which shouldn't be too hard, considering the horn of the blunderbuss was pressed against the side of the night elf's head. With his sword on the ground, Hanzar stared intently at the small creature who obviously wanted to kill him as desperately as he wanted to kill her. The decision was hers now. Banik cocked the gun and it startled the elf, who lowered her blades and looked over at the tauren. He took a step back, still keeping her in his range. One false move, Hanzar knew, and he would be victim to the rogue's quickness.

Slowly, so she could see his movements, the troll picked up his sword and sheathed it. Her long eyebrows were still drawn and her eyes glowed brightly even in the daylight. Banik looked at his friend for a sign of what to do next. "Okay, elf, we'll leave if you do," he said, emphasizing the key words in hope she would understand. She merely watched him suspiciously. "We," he repeated, gesturing to he and Banik, "will leave," he gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, "if you do," he pointed to her, and made a shooing motion with his hand. Just when it looked like she was about to become frustrated and Hanzar began to wonder at the intellect of night elves, she laughed. It was a bell-like sound, rich and almost mocking. Her whole body relaxed in that moment and the two warriors stared at each other in utter confusion. Still laughing, she reached into her pocket and Hanzar tensed for any tricks the rogue would pull—however, she pulled out a small bag, which she untied. From it she pulled what looked like an insignia, and when she offered it to him, Hanzar saw it was the badge of a well-known Corporal from Orgrimmar. He stared at her with disbelief, and took the insignia to show it to Banik.

"Small thing killed Corp Argamon?" the tauren asked, holding the badge between two enormous fingers. The elf didn't look very proud, though, when Hanzar took it back and stuffed it in his pocket. She pressed her hands together at her chin and made a whimpering sound, then drew her finger across her throat. Immediately Hanzar understood.

"No, I don't think she did. He begged, and was still killed." He looked at her. "We do that all the time. What's wrong with it?" He shrugged his shoulders, and with a slightly open mouth she shook her head and made a disapproving face. Hanzar laughed. "Funny thing. I guess his wench will want it." Banik took another step back and put his gun back in its holster. The warriors looked at one another and Hanzar nodded.

"Let's go." Just as he moved to walk away, he felt tiny fingers on his wrist. He stopped, surprised, and turned to look at the small elf—before he could react she had jumped up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, and without a moment's hesitation she took off running back the way they had come. She disappeared into thin air and they saw her shadow weave into the mountains above.

Hanzar stood very still, unsure whether to vomit or hold his hand over where her lips had touched his skin. Banik was staring at him and they locked eyes. "What?" Hanzar demanded, and the arms warrior shrugged his shoulders. "I want to kill some dryads."


	2. Part One: Chapter Two

**Providence**

**Part One**

**Chapter Two**

A shadow walked along the cliffs, watching the pair of Horde below. Garoul put a hand on her lips and laughed quietly to herself. She always traveled alone purely because all other elves she had known frowned upon her and her weird, slightly eccentric nature. The rogue certainly had a thing for trolls—she loved to kill them, but she thought they had a certain charm in their familiarly long ears and lanky build. Reich was the only one she knew of who didn't find this extremely weird. Of course, the human didn't find just about anything strange, except the giant dog-faced protector of the warrior quarter Darnassus. The elf capital always did unnerve him, he always felt rather unwelcome there.

Garoul shook her head and continued her observation. They were clearly headed toward Stonetalon Peak; she was curious as to what they would do there. She felt no protective emotion of the small Alliance outpost, or of any Alliance town beside her homeland of Teldrassil. She did like the busy Stormwind, but not even a Horde raid was stupid enough to take on the capital—it would be complete suicide.

The pair of warriors had stopped along the cliff wall and the troll was hacking away at a vein in the rock. A miner, she thought. She had expected their reaction to the insignia, for everyone knew the Horde had no honor, but she still felt some responsibility for what had happened. Garoul had tried to relay her purpose as best she could, but the situation was much graver than she was sure the troll thought: she had been with Reich and Adelian, a rather dull-witted elf druid in the forests of Darkshore when they came upon a massive orc attempting to bind numerous, gaping wounds. Immediately Reich had approached the much stronger shaman, counting on Garoul and Adelian's support—the three of them could easily take the Corporal, injured as he was, but both night elves immediately called Reich on the dishonor of it.

"Bah, orc trash! They all deserve to die, don't give me that," he chastised them. "I thought you would know better than that, Gari, of all the snobby elves out there." The dark-haired human narrowed his eyes at her, but she would not be cowed. The orc had immediately seen them, but as there was nothing for him to do of it, he merely watched and waited with suspicious eyes. Garoul took a step back and watched Reich withdraw his curved battle axe, when suddenly the shaman Corporal—one could tell his rank from the mark on his insignia—leaned forward and grabbed his poorly-bandaged arm with one hand, speaking pitifully in his brutish language. He looked panicked and while Garoul felt a strange pity, Reich stared at the orc with disgust and raised his axe. Then she saw it: the shaman's blood-red eyeballs, the way his blood was colored too dark to be normal, and how his wounds looked rotten under the heavy silk bandages and white medical tape. "Stop!" she cried, just as Reich brutally beheaded the clearly dying orc. Adelian jogged up beside her and together the night elves pushed Reich out of the way and began inspecting the dead, bleeding body. What had an orc of this caliber been doing in elven territory, alone, and brutally beaten?

"I think," Adelian murmured, running his hand through his dark hair like the girly-man he was, "he looked infected, didn't he?" Garoul slowly nodded her head and leaned down to inspect the wounds, while keeping a safe distance.

"I've seen poisons like this before," she said, sighing, "but I couldn't tell you who did it. Must have been a rogue, but you can only get the ingredients for something like this from the poisoned glades of the undead lands."

Reich was cleaning his blade with an old rag, clearly guilty but hoping his hot-tempered rogue friend wouldn't decide to reprimand him. But Garoul knew his lust for orcish blood often took over and she could not deny that she didn't feel the need to kill him, too.

"Then it must have been an undead who poisoned him," Adelian pointed out, and Garoul gave him an exasperated look.

"I thought that was obvious."

She had kept the insignia in hopes of finding out what had happened to him, or at least done something to make up for her friend's mercilessness. That was, she knew, all that kept the Alliance afloat—honor and dignity. Without them the races of elves, humans, dwarves and gnomes would fall to the barbaric ways of the Horde. But with the language barrier, she knew now it would be impossible and she would merely have to give up on her crusade.

However, she did intend on perhaps killing the one of the warriors if she got a chance to get them alone. They wouldn't be too hard to follow for they knew very few in these mountains would bother them. At their pace, they wouldn't make it to the peak before dark.

It was late evening when Garoul entered the ruins, watched by the eyes of dryads and their truants in the night. The troll and tauren had stopped earlier for the night, but she had gone on to the nearby outpost to find out if the postmaster had come with a reply to her letter. She had called Reich from his travels in Ashenvale to plan another one of their harebrained, nearly suicidal missions. Perhaps with the help of the warrior, she could ambush the traveling Horde and take their heads back to Darnassus. She was eager for some trophies.

Poking through the mailbox, Garoul found what she was looking for: a yellowed piece of folded paper, tied with string and adorned with the words "Gari, you are such an idiot." Laughing she opened the letter and began to read.

"Stonetalon? You are so ridiculous. That place is completely infested! Ah, well, I will see what I can do. Look for me the day after tomorrow, as I am currently staying at the inn in Astranaar and it shouldn't be difficult to find a hippogriff to the peak.

"Don't get eaten.

"Your partner in crime, Reich." Garoul stuffed the note into her pocket and left the small tailoring shop—the only place to house a mailbox in the small outpost. She found her way back to where the two warriors slept and found a spot in the rocks above to meld into the shadows.

--

Hanzar awoke to the sound of a scream. He sat up and, rubbing his eyes, looked around for the source of his unwelcome alarm clock. The sun was just beginning to rise when he poured a bit of cold water on Banik to awaken the unconscious ox. Hearing no sounds of a scuffle, Hanzar merely assumed what he had thought sounded rather familiar was really the squawk of one of Stonetalon's numerous harpies.

It was midmorning when Hanzar and Banik reached the top of the peak, and looked to see the corpses of dryads littering the ethereal ruins of Stonetalon Peak. The pair gaped at the arena of blood; the dryads that hadn't clearly escaped had been slaughtered and their bodies mauled by scavengers and the ravages of the peak. Banik uttered some Taurahe exclamation, and Hanzar could only nod. "Someone beat us here... or a lot of someones."

The warriors walked in silence back to the retreat. It would be the whole day's walk, but neither minded. Hanzar wondered briefly if the skinny little night elf had been caught in the slaughter. Her skin had certainly been a lot softer than trollses, he mused, and he wondered how far that softness went.

Banik had grown rather tired of the mountains and wished he were back in the long prairies of Mulgore. He grew tired of killing and journeying and wished often to become a warrior trainer, living on the cliffs of Thunder Bluff. But like Hanzar, he had a score to settle—it was why they had become friends in the beginning. In the empty deserts of the Barrens, both of them had been strangers, Hanzar a troll from distant forests, and Banik, a peaceful tauren who missed the ways of his people.

They stopped to eat at midday and walked faster afterwards; they were to take wyverns to the less contested lands of the Horde. The retreat glowed in the afternoon light and Banik reveled in the totems guarding Sun Rock's entrance. But rather than issuing the two adventurers a hearty greeting, the guards were talking busily among themselves and stopped suddenly when they saw the warriors.

Hanzar noticed that the whole place seemed to be rather abuzz with commotion. There was a small crowd forming near the inn, and he turned to the orc guard. "What's going on?" he asked.

The orc hefted his axe from one hand to the other. He muttered, "Some idiots found an elf and thought it would be fun to bring her back, alive, and tie her up for everyone to see." Hanzar gaped and looked up at Banik, who was only watching the commotion with perked ears.

The two immediately hastened to the inn, and Hanzar pushed his way through the crowd to see what he had expected to see: the small, wild-faced rogue cursing vehemently in a strange language and struggling against her rope binds. Her weapons had been taken from her and she looked roughed up, with bruises on her face and cuts in her clothes. When she saw him staring at her from the crowd of faces, she swore harder and he thought she had very little of the dignity and calm her race generally prided themselves in.

Hanzar stepped back and met Banik, who stood just inside the inn with some coins in his overlarge hand. "It was her," he said, gesturing to the commotion outside. The tauren slowly nodded his head.

They drank into the evening, being the only ones still at the inn—Sun Rock Retreat was a quiet place, inhabited mostly by tauren and was usually only a day's adventure, as close to the Barrens as it was—and it was nearly midnight when Hanzar stood to his feet, swaying, and shook one fist. He had removed most of his bulky armor and felt much more at ease for it.

"Cummon, Bannie!" Hanzar laughed, but Banik only stared at him, far too large to be overly affected by drink.

"You go, Hanz," he replied and sat back down with his oversized mug. The troll shook his head for a moment, contemplating a situation that didn't exist, and then said, "I will talk to the elf thing," and walked outside.

The cool air immediately sobered him some, but he still tripped when he walked to the post where he saw the night elf sleeping, still tied. He wondered if they would keep her here until she died of starvation—he wouldn't put it past orcs, or whoever had captured the thing and brought her here. Hanzar stumbled closer and when a rock skittered over the ground, the elf jumped awake and stared up at him where he stood. She glared, but it was hard to tell for her eyes shone brightly in the darkness. Whoever had captured her seemed to have removed everything from her body beside her clothes, though looking at her now, it didn't seem there was much of those left, either. Hanzar stepped closer and the rogue hissed a warning. Her bandana was removed and he could now see her smooth cheeks and darkly colored lips.

"Who brought you here, thing?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred. Her blue hair bristled. "Ah, for a nothing, you're cute," the troll murmured. Hanzar reached out and lightly brushed her face with his knuckles. At the contact both creatures suddenly froze. The troll felt his arm start to burn and he quickly pulled his hand away, clutching it and staring at the night elf where she hung. Her eyes were equally wide when Hanzar looked around, and seeing no one, walked to the back of the post and began untying the ropes that held the small elf captive.

--

Garoul trembled. There was only the sound of the troll's scratching and the hum of the night birds, and the elf was unnerved by it. The warrior looked intoxicated, but he seemed to manage the ropes anyway. Why he was freeing her she had no real idea—the touch had burned her face like fire, and she wondered if he had felt the same thing.

She had been sleeping in a place she had thought to be quite hidden, melded into the shadows, when a pair of skeletal fiends had grabbed her, each one holding an arm, and taken all of her things like Defias thieves. They had proceeded to bind her tightly with rope and climbing on their demon horses, had cackled while one threw her over his back. They were rogues as well and had very little trouble seeing her with their keen senses—they were incredibly strong and all the armor on them glowed with enchantments. They chortled to one another and spoke quickly in their cursed Gutterspeak. She could only wonder where they were taking her; the ropes ground into her skin and when they brought her to the small Horde town, disgusting creatures of all kinds had gawked at her where she hung, tied to a totem pole. It was a humiliating experience, and seeing the troll there, she imagined that somehow, he had told his friends of her gesture and that was their purpose for such unreasonable behavior. She would rather have them drive their daggers through her than die of starvation on display for all the Horde to see.

Quite suddenly the ropes fell free and her body, tired and covered with blisters and long gashes from her binding, dropped straight to the ground. Garoul sat for a moment, stunned, and when she tried to get to her feet, she felt incredibly large, strong hands grab her roughly. One seized her shoulder and the other her waist, hefting her up with very little effort until she managed to stand on her feet on her own. Speechless and wide-eyed, Garoul stared at her rescuer. In the light of the moon she could see now his long, thick, dark red hair, which was bound and braided down his back. His tusks were of the shorter variety, curved and pointed upward. His shoulders were broad and well-muscled, but his posture was rather miserable. He had a large, gold, hoop earring in one long ear and trinkets adorned his neck and fingers. A very unique character, she thought, but that might be perhaps she very rarely looked at those she killed, or those she hid from in the shadows. All the Horde looked the same to her, brutish and vile. For a warrior, though, this particular troll did look rather classy.

Garoul touched her chest and said in the clearest tone she could, "Garoul." The troll looked momentarily confused, so she tried again, by pointing at herself and saying, "Ga-roul."

He seemed to catch on and replied, "Hanzar." He gave a tentative smile, though it was hard to see for his tusks obscured most facial expressions.

"Thank you," she said, knowing he probably wouldn't understand, and crouched to stealth—when she felt his hand on her wrist, this time much gentler than he had been previously. She blinked up at him and before she could react he leaned down and, his nose an inch from hers, murmured in a guttural tone and pressed something to her chest. Garoul looked down to see an unranked insignia, marked with strange symbols—she knew at once it was his. Taking a step back the troll made a shooing motion and pointed to the road out of Sun Rock. Still looking tipsy, he turned his back and walked to the inn from which he had come.

Confused and holding the badge tightly in her fingers, Garoul turned, unarmed and clothes ripped to indecency, and left, not bothering to stealth as she went.


	3. Part One: Chapter Three

**Providence**

**Part One**

**Chapter Three**

Hanzar sat, his head beginning to swim with sobriety, and replayed the strange scene in his head. She looked nothing like the troll women he knew—she was different, that was for sure. When he imagined beautiful, the first image in his mind was the voluptuous Achsbor, a young orc hunter he had aided to the far lands of the Undead. She was curvy but brusque, calm and bloodthirsty.

This strange creature was soft like fur and wild as fire. He had felt a low hum in his throat when he saw her, clothes torn, her posture strong yet sleek. The troll swallowed another swig of fresh water. He didn't know what had made him give her his insignia—he would get another when they promoted him, but somehow, he wanted her to remember their little mishap. Maybe it was that he thought she had earned it. It was only by chance she hadn't managed to kill him.

Banik slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Sleep," the big tauren said, "You tired." Hanzar nodded and gave an exhausted chuckle.

"Good idea."

The warrior went to sleep and dreamt of a shadow, following him as he walked from the dark forest to the hot, burning light.

--

Garoul stayed in the rented room above the small tailoring shop that night and a good part of the next day. She watched the hippogriffs fly in, hoping to see a familiar red helmet. It wasn't until afternoon that the elf heard a commotion downstairs and came to find Reich chatting merrily with the blonde tailor's wife.

"Ahem." The human glanced up and at once grinned.

"Gari!" He walked toward her but stopped. "Holy... what happened to your clothes?" One long tear ran from her shoulder to her stomach. The whole bottom of her shirt was ripped, her bandana was missing and her boots were gone, leaving only a pair of mismatched slipper-shoes.

Garoul laughed a tired, scratchy laugh. "I've been waiting for you to come. They're making me a new shirt right now... but I don't have the money to pay for it." She rubbed one arm. "Let's go outside, I'll tell you everything."

When the elf had finished her tale, Reich sat and thoughtfully tapped his chin. "Can I see the insignia?" Garoul nodded and handed her friend the small red and black badge. He turned it over once, before handing it back. "What a story." A small, sly grin on his face, he elbowed her in the arm and asked, "So? A troll? It's like one of your fantasies."

The night elf gaped at him. "I couldn't think like that, not in my position." She paused. Only the human knew her this well. While she imagined brusque and forbidden, Reich laughed and listened. He was the only one she ever felt safe revealing her estranged nature to—anyone else she had trusted had called her insane and deranged. Maybe she was, but Garoul liked it better that way. She had very few reservations.

"What was he like?"

Garoul blinked at him. "What do you mean?"

Reich laughed and chewed on another large chunk of jerky, managing between bites, "You hate the Horde but find one troll so fascinating. You must have been loving every moment, so tell me about it." Immediately she wanted to retort nastily, but she bit back a reply because she knew he was right. She had been twisted from birth, but so had he—his problems were more than even she could handle.

So Garoul leaned back and said, "Well, he was blue. A light hue, sort of like the sky, but rough. He was taller than I expected..." She paused. "I hated it, I was too afraid. I'm never afraid, but there, put up for the viewing pleasure of anyone who stopped to see, at the mercy of the Horde, I was afraid. I only stopped to admire once, and believe me, once isn't enough."

Reich shook his head. "You are one messed up little girl."

"You don't have to rub it in."

The two were quiet for a few moments as they looked at the ruins from their spot on the grassy hill. The dryad corpses had been removed, and those who had fled had returned, though now they sent scouts to the lake in case there was another sign of an attack. Hostilities in Stonetalon were growing and the Alliance presence there only grew weaker. Garoul wondered if she stayed here, if she would see her strange foe again.

"I wish I knew what he thought, when he helped me." She crossed her arms over her drawn up knees. "It's strange I don't feel a thing when Adelian puts the moves on me, but when a troll speaks Orcish in my ear every hair on me stands on end."

"I tell you once, I tell you again: you're just plain different. You're weird—like a child raised by worgs. You have no sense of right or wrong. You are impulsive and desire only what you cannot have." Reich tousled her hair playfully. "If you weren't insane, you wouldn't be you. Now, about those clothes—if I'm to pay for them, which do you want: pink, or purple?"

--

The rain here was miserable. It never rained on Kalimdor; this continent, Hanzar decided, was miserable. He disliked the undead, the foul-tempered corpses they were. He did favors for them in their great city merely so that they would refrain from killing him as he walked across their lands toward the Hillsbrad and Arathi territories. Banik remained in the capital, working a booth selling all that he and Hanzar had acquired over the course of their travels. With the Darkmoon Faire in town, there was nothing that couldn't and wouldn't be sold. They had stockpiles of smelted ore and dried bundles of herbs. It was a craftsman fantasy.

Hanzar hardly enjoyed his tour of Silverpine, and dreaded even more to cross Hillsbrad—the place was infested with human peasants, all of the mostly unarmed variety, and the Horde post there was overridden with festering corpses. He had stopped for the day and wished only to reach Arathi as soon as possible.

Banik hadn't understood the troll when he said, "I'm going to escape the dreams." It had been months since he had freed the elf rogue in Sun Rock Retreat, and he kept his new insignia with pride. But every night, in every dream and every fantasy, a shadow followed him, always keeping pace and always waking him up shivering with cool sweat. The shadow had begun to come closer, circling when he stopped and waiting, waiting for something he couldn't quite place. He went on with his dreams but always she followed him. Sometimes he would stop during the day and search for any sign of the rogue, where she might be hiding, why he felt her presence only in dreams. But his consternation was in vain and he went on every day, looking and waiting.

Yet, the rain still bothered the troll, who had grown accustomed to the deserts of Durotar. It rusted his armor and ruined pounds of food as it came down. He would sit beneath a tree, shivering, shooting spiders as they came along and watching for a break in the weather when he could continue his trek to higher, drier lands.

The night he arrived in Hammerfall, two weeks after his departure from the Undercity, Hanzar slept without disturbance. He awoke with no more than a sore hip from sleeping sideways on the small bed he found in a renting room. The troll assumed this boded well and he could continue his travels without thinking more of the elf he should have long forgotten.

"What is her name again?" he asked out loud, hoping he still didn't know the answer. His mind repeated the strange combination of sounds: Garoul. It wasn't like the other elf names he knew, the ones that couldn't escape infamy. The tone of it was rough, almost Orcish.

But then again, much about her seemed out of place, both in his image of the Horde, and of the Alliance. She was a stranger in every sense of the word.

Sitting on the cool steps of the bat handler's platform, Hanzar contemplated his next move: he had come across two countries to clear his mind, but it still seemed he hadn't succeeded, and his abilities were suffering. At his rate of decline he would prove useless in a matter of weeks, and that the troll could not afford. He still had much revenge and havoc to wreak and no amount of slender, open-mouthed elves could—

Hanzar gaped. The picture he had just imagined was beyond anything he would have thought possible for him. It was both wrong and delightful, exotic and disarming. When it danced on the edges of his vision the troll knew at once he could no longer deny it.

He had to find her. For what sinister purpose he wasn't sure of quite yet, but he would pinpoint one when he got around to it. But how to find one pink-skinned, blue-haired rogue—he didn't know.

But he had an idea.


	4. Part One: Chapter Four

**Providence**

**Part One**

**Chapter Four**

Garoul had long been too busy to think of her chance encounter. She was on the hunt for money, armor, and weapons. When the Horde captured her, they had taken everything; she had spent the last few months putting her life back into order, and the few items stored in her bank had not been enough to keep her in working order. Reich had given her a few silver to keep food in her belly, but she needed funds if she was going to replace her nearly priceless sword, the Cruel Barb used by only the highest-ranking of the Defias.

That day she found herself walking to Ironforge, loaded down with heavy leather skins and cured hides to sell at the greatest auction house in the Eastern Kingdoms—even if it was the only one. The biting cold of Dun Morogh would have proved to be far too much for her if it weren't for the protective hides she wore tied around her neck. She had been hunting for nearly a month, storing her finds in a cave, tanning them on the slopes of the Redridge Mountains and sewing fine clothes with the few supplies she still had. Before leaving she wrote a letter to Reich of her progress, and asked him to meet her in the dwarven capital. He promised her gifts—she always liked those.

So it was that surprise nearly stopped her heart when a hand gripped her wrist, and another clamped over her mouth to muffle her cry. Her hides dropped to the ground and she cried again against the palm restraining her as she was dragged off the main path and into a cave just below. The darkness was no stranger to a night elf, but even she had difficulty seeing where they were going: her eyes lit only a short path ahead, and having no idea of her captor, all she could do was dangle helplessly. One hand gripped her tightly around the middle while the other, still muffling her, kept her head facing forward.

They suddenly turned a corner, and the light of a small fire filled the room. Slowly she was set on her feet and only with great care was she allowed to turn and face her kidnapper. If only she had her sword, she thought. If only she had some money, she wouldn't be in this situation—not again.

Her eyes traveled from the immense, two-toed feet up muscled legs, a slender waist, and a toned, broad chest. His face didn't surprise her in the least.

She remembered his name.

"Hanzar," she said, but this time her voice was filled with disgust. He smiled wickedly at her. But Garoul had no time for these games, as ridiculous as they were—her months of labor lay out on the thoroughfare, free money for anyone with half a mind to take them. This could not be tolerated.

"You stupid troll! Take me back! I don't know what you're doing here or why, but damn it all, kill me or let me go!" She stomped one foot and abruptly walked to him, pressing her index finger into his chest. "When I get my weapons, you'll be the first one I kill!"

The troll only watched her with a bemused expression, and when she jabbed him for a reply he grabbed her strongly by the wrist, drawing her up close to him. Garoul's breath hitched in her throat and she resisted drawing back when he leaned down to look at her. She was immediately reminded of their previous encounter and she felt the badge where she had sown it into her jerkin. In the blistering cold cave, his breath was warm on her face, and the night elf did nothing but stare when his grip on her wrist softened and his other hand moved to her waist. In one quick movement Hanzar pulled her against him and his lips connected with hers.

There was a flurry in Garoul's brain. She was seized with a sudden fear, the apprehension of the unknown; yet it was the strangeness of it that quickly seduced her. It was ridiculous and wild, and where he touched her skin it tingled and burned.

She was a deviant. The forbidden touched her; the bizarre soothed her; the unfamiliar stirred her deep inside her bones. She knew that whatever experiences this strange troll had in store for her, she would remember them.

Still, she really had no time for his antics and she remembered the jagged leathercutting knife in her pocket.

--

Hanzar had caught the elf's trail when he stalked through the wilds of the human lands. He had received persistent messages from Banik, but ignored them; he had one purpose, and one only. The troll had followed her into the mountains, but he was always one step behind: he smelled her on a shoe she had tried to sow but the heel came out reversed; he followed her trail, until she stopped in a small dwarven village at the edges of Dun Morogh. He set up camp on a fairly high-traffic road in a cave he had found full of scar-faced troggs. After killing them and disposing of their stunted corpses, he set up a pleasant fire and merely waited for his night elf to come along.

She looked as miserable now as she had when he watched her flee Sun Rock Retreat all those months ago. She was mostly unarmored and her weapon was a rather useless dagger strapped to her thigh. Hanzar felt some pity for her, penniless as she appeared. But emotions faded when he held her small, elven body so close to his he could feel her muscles. All he felt was his blood rushing hot when Garoul returned the kiss, her hands flexing against his grip as if looking for something more to touch. He obliged her by releasing her wrists and instead used both hands to pull her hips against him, a feat he accomplished with relative ease considering her insignificant weight.

He could have drowned in those lips.

She was as soft and pliable as his best fur coat. Hanzar didn't expect the sudden pain in his side when she drew away from his lips. He looked down to see the short, jagged knife she held buried an inch into his ribs. He sputtered for a moment, looking at his idle, deadly sword that lie across the cave, and then back down when she pulled the weapon out once more.

Overcome completely by a reddening rage, Hanzar moved to grab her, but she had already disappeared into the shadows; he saw her move, but she was too quick and the blood from his side had begun to gush. She raced from the cave and seeing a small caravan of dwarven merchants approaching, the troll knew at once he wouldn't be able to touch her, not here. He carefully remained in the shadows, fury overcoming him as he watched her sheathe the bloody dagger and remove the pelts she had dropped from the road. After he had come all this way, she had the nerve to stab him? Hanzar felt himself shaking—but whether it was from rage or the cold, he wasn't quite sure.

As quickly as he noticed it, it was gone: a kind of disappointment, a brief annoyance in his gut. While his muscles seized with anger the troll knew he had to bind his wound if he didn't want it to get infected. His first aid skills were very considerable, so when the traitorous elf disappeared from sight, he retreated into the cave and fetched his heavy silk bandages.

"Traitorous?" he thought out loud then, puzzling. She was a member of the Alliance. It was her duty to do whatever she could to stop him, and it was naive of him to think she wouldn't merely because of their meaningless interactions in Stonetalon. He sighed and cut the end of the bandage, taping it to his slightly paled blue skin.

He wondered how, during all his time hunting for her, why he hadn't thought of how foolish his idea was to begin with. Even unprepared, she was a rogue to be reckoned with, and he should have seen it from the beginning.

But, Hanzar vowed, if he stumbled across her again, it would be different. She wouldn't manage to escape, next time.

Next time, she'd be dead.

--

It was only when Garoul reached Ironforge that evening that she stopped inside the massive gates to regain the breath she had lost hours ago. Her chest heaved with exertion and stress; only now did she let herself think and remember.

Hanzar's wide-eyed shock hovered on the edge of her vision. His lips were slightly parted when he looked down at her, and just before his entire face contorted with rage, he looked almost... hurt. Betrayed.

Her surprise and anger at seeing the troll here, hiding out in Alliance territory, had overwhelmed her in that singular moment. Her lips drew together pensively, and she remembered the electric sensation when he roughly gripped her hips; the surge of boiling blood had come when they kissed—she had felt almost primitive; barbaric.

She had had to do it. While the troll was engrossed in her, she had done what she thought was necessary to escape: she inflicted the most painful, non-lethal wound she could, and fled. But thinking back upon it she felt a strong wave of guilt. Had he followed her all this way? The idea would have scared most anyone else, but Garoul felt a tingling sensation in her throat when she thought of the troll leaned down, feeling out her tracks, smiling a predatory smile. The elf knew her mind well enough that her thoughts would only disintegrate as night came on, so she shouldered her bundle and entered the massive dwarven capital.

It was long after sunset when Garoul reached the inn, holding a small bag of coins from the last of her auctions. She was impressed with the price of leather these days—it boded well for a skinner like herself. The gold she had received for her cured hides and heavier leathers was far more than merely chump change. If she managed to find her friends, who had said they were staying in the city of the Great Forge for at least a week, she would buy them each a beer and then spend the whole next day shopping.

Thus it was hardly a surprise when she saw Reich at the bar, flirting madly with two very eager redheads, who responded ideally to each of his advances. Adelian sat at a table alone, completely engrossed in his jug of hard liquor. His eyes looked dull and his cheeks sunken; Garoul wondered what had befallen the overly emotional druid.

"Adel?" she murmured, sitting down beside him. He seemed hardly surprised when he turned to look at her.

"Ah," was his only reply, and he took another long swig of whatever drink he had. She could smell the buttery flavor from where she sat. Reich seemed to have noticed them and abandoned his audience, moving over to pat Garoul on the head.

"Hey there little girl, you're early. We didn't expect you until tomorrow."

Garoul shrugged, not sure she wished to divulge the day's events in front of the other night elf. He probably wouldn't care anyway, and especially not when completely intoxicated, but she never liked risking it. Reich was the only one she completely trusted. "There was an incident, so I came faster than I had previously intended." She glanced at the empty jugs still sitting at the bar. "I was going to buy you a drink, but it looks like you beat me to it."

The human laughed at her, scratching his dark hair and pulling up a chair beside her. "What happened?" he asked. Garoul looked at Adelian, who had quite suddenly passed out and was now face-down on the table, drooling. The druid had never really lived up to the perception of night elves as graceful and dignified.

"I saw him again." Reich blinked, clearly not knowing who the ambiguous 'he' was. She narrowed her eyes. "The troll."

"Oh." He widened his eyes a little. "Wait, here?"

Garoul nodded her head. "I was walking here when he jumped me." Reich gaped. "I... I stabbed him."

To this, the warrior didn't know how to respond. He was silent for a brief moment as he watched emotion on his friend's face: she looked guilty, but at the same time, he was confused by the vibrant reddish hue to her cheeks. She looked away. "Gari?"

The elf's shoulders tensed. "Oh, I can't stop thinking about it," she said, rubbing one arm and still not making eye contact. "He kissed me and grabbed me and," she swallowed, "I thought something else took over me, until I did it." Garoul paused. "It still burns everywhere. I think about where it could have gone and my head swims."

Had anyone else heard her confession, he would have thought her upset; perhaps angry, or afraid—but Reich knew this side of her. Elves had many secrets, but of the ones he knew, they were very erotic creatures deep inside and his friend was no exception. If anything, she had a heightened awareness of things that affected her sexually, and her tastes were exotic, bizarre and almost frightening. Her whispered recollections of a fantasy were always entertaining in their weirdness.

Had anyone else heard her confession, they would have questioned her sanity. But Reich knew the look in her eyes and the sound of her voice: she had enjoyed it and she wanted more. Garoul was too easy to read.

"Maybe," he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "You should find him this time." She stared up and the warrior only smiled. "I dare you."


	5. Part One: Chapter Five

**Providence**

**Part One**

**Chapter Five**

Hanzar stopped every few hours to check his bandage and change it if pus formed or the wound looked dirty. At the end of his first day of traveling in the shadows, he stopped in the hills of Loch Modan at a small river he found there and cleaned the rather deep wound. It was hardly grave, though, to the rough troll—he had suffered much worse and been better off for it.

But with most wounds, he associated battle and honor; this small gash, deep and completely painful, was very different. He felt anger and an overwhelming desire for revenge, but hidden was a bead of remorse. He was constantly reminded of the event for every step he took, every movement of his torso was like a knife ripping through his ribs. Hanzar watched the wound heal slowly, more so than any other he had suffered that was much more severe. By the time he wandered into a small Horde outpost and secured a bat flight two weeks later, the flesh had barely begun to regenerate and the skin was patched only around the edges. Hanzar was reminded of thousands of tiny men filling a collapsed mine shaft.

He finally met his friend in the neutral Booty Bay. The tauren looked tired and far more hairy than the last time they met—thinking of it, it had been nearly a month. Winter was setting in, one could see it in the cold, heavy wind coming off the shore. Unless they made it back to the Barrens soon, they would be caught in an Eastern Kingdom winter, which was never pleasant.

When the two friends were sitting on a stack of empty crates on the docks, Hanzar asked, "Have you secured a boat?"

Banik shook his head. "Not yet. Another day before a boat to Ratchet. Have been fighting there and goblins don't want to bother with war. Not when they don't have to." The ox sniffed loudly from the cold. "Hanz, where you been?"

The troll crossed his arms and said nothing. Not wanting to pry Banik leaned forward and sighed. "Should buy warm clothes, no fur," he said. Hanzar looked at him. "Merchants here."

Sure enough, he saw the leatherworking shop busy with life. He could use a good cloak for the time he was here, anyway, so he left the tauren on the dock while he went to shop amongst the throng.

Booty Bay was always an interesting place to be merely because of the overwhelming amount of mixture. Horde and Alliance, shopping, bargaining, trading, all together—it was still edgy, but there was a strange sort of camaraderie about the harbor. An orc could bump into a human at the inn and not cause a scene.

Hanzar managed his way into the busy store, squeezing between a pair of tauren women and stepping over a gnome wearing an overlarge leather tunic before he reached the table. As he perused the cloaks, he heard a squeak and a gasp, and looked up for the source of the sound.

Garoul sat directly in front of him. The wares were obviously hers. Hanzar somehow managed to not climb over the table and kill her right then—instead he stared, eyebrows drawing into an expression of anger and frustration. A goblin sitting beside the elf looked between them and asked in Orcish, "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no problem," Hanzar replied, never once breaking eye contact with Garoul. "Though there is always the language barrier."

"Of course," the goblin woman replied. "But that's what we're here for. Did you want to buy something?"

The troll, without moving his head, lifted the topmost cloak made of a thick leather with a furry lining. "This one," he said. His elf looked almost terrified.

The goblin hastily began to speak in Common—Hanzar recognized the language—and slowly turning her head to acknowledge her, Garoul replied in turn.

"She says for you, it is fifty silver." His eyebrows lifted at that—half of what the workmanship was worth. She suddenly looked very small, and she refused to keep eye contact, though he did see her looking at the now mostly-healed wound at his side. He still had a rather nasty-looking bandage taped over it. Her lips pressed together apprehensively.

"I'll take it," he said, his voice coming out slightly less hostile than before. The goblin nodded and spoke to Garoul. She stared at him. She then said something else, something rushed, in a lower tone and with her eyes focused on him. The goblin looked confused for a moment, but shrugged her shoulders.

"The elf says she is not sorry, but she wishes to know if you are all right." She eyed the wound, and looked between the troll and the night elf. He narrowed his eyes.

"I have no time for her frivolities." He pulled out the silver and slapped it on the table so loudly that some of the noise in the shop stopped for a moment. Hanzar leaned forward, so much that Garoul tilted back in surprise. "I will get you, soon, you'll see." The goblin hastily repeated the message and the elf's pink skin looked almost white. Maybe it was the light. Snatching the cloak, he turned on his heel and left.

Furious and turning red in the cheeks—from the cold or the anger, he didn't know—Hanzar pulled on the cloak and hunched over even further as he walked. His pace slowed as he went toward the tier, which was empty besides a goblin fishing near the edge. The troll stopped and sat down, hanging his legs over the water, and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He had to admit, somewhere deep down, that she was a rather pretty creature. But why she haunted him, he didn't know—she popped up everywhere unexpected, and was nowhere when he wanted her to be. Then again, Hanzar thought, he was probably the same to her. For once he wondered how afraid of him she was; how she had loathed the kiss, the one she had returned, only to distract him. Fear had always excited him but this one, this slip of a girl, he hadn't wanted her to run away.

He could still feel her soft hips in his hands like it was yesterday.

Hanzar stiffened when he felt hot breath on his neck. Small, warm hands touched his shoulders, and after a brief pause there were lips on his ear and a heartbeat pressed against his rigid back. His mind fought off confusion and when he turned to look, she was there, eyes glowing brightly, cheeks and lips red from the bruising wind. She said something in her own language—he remembered her bell-like voice and as she spoke, it caressed each word carefully and softly. He was so mesmerized that his anger faded to shock when she kissed him. It was so brief the troll wondered if it had really happened—he saw her glance around to see if anyone saw them, and as suddenly as she arrived, she got to her feet and jogged off the way she had come.

Hanzar let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His side had begun to ache quite sorely but he ignored it in favor of getting to his feet, and walking back to the inn.

--

Garoul knew she would see him again before she departed Booty Bay with Reich for Ashenvale. After her conversation with her friend, her fantasies had taken over her dreams, and she knew if she didn't act she would find no rest from them. She was an easily-stimulated creature and the red-haired, blue-skinned troll pressed every last one of her buttons. That brief moment on the pier had tingled every nerve—she had to leave before she did anything too rash.

She was hardly fit for the name night elf.

Her leather sold well here, with winter beginning to set in. It was long after dark when she returned to the inn and without even looking around, she stumbled tiredly to her bed in the workshop she had taken over for the beginning of the season.

Garoul woke up to snow. She could hear an incredible commotion coming from the common room, and in a gold slip she snuck out of her room and out to the stairs.

All races were assembled there, some arguing, others yelling, some crouched quietly at the bar. The barmaids and wenches were bustling around attempting to calm the crowd, but their success was barred by the shout she heard above them all: a dwarf climbed onto the bar and cried in a deep Scottish accent, "All boats are cancelled until further notice! The damn ocean is freezing over!" A goblin repeated the announcement in Orcish. The noise evaporated for that one brief moment when all heads turned to the windows and the heavy snow falling outside.

"Stay calm," the goblin yelled. "We encourage everyone who is able to leave the harbor by gryphon to Ironforge, where updates will be provided hourly. Enter a queue for a boat and we will notify you when the weather lets up, or you can take the boat from Menethil." A similar message was repeated in Orcish, and Garoul heard "Orgrimmar." The hostile commotion quickly changed to one of haste, with creatures of all shapes and sizes rushing to gather their things and find the bat handler or gryphon master as soon as possible. In a matter of minutes the place had mostly cleared out, with a few drunks passed out at tables and others like herself merely watching with morbid fascination.

Garoul came down the stairs and sat at the bar, not minding her outfit, and was astounded that there were those who drank first thing in the morning. She requested a glass of water and some bread from a goblin before settling in.

Upon taking a sweep of the common room, she saw the familiar pair of a massive, brown tauren and a jewelry-infested blue troll. Taking her food and drink, the elf hopped off the bar stool and walked to the table where the two were talking in hushed tones. They both looked up in surprise when she pulled out the chair and sat down.

The tauren's jaw hung open. He blinked a few times before turning to his friend, who was also staring at Garoul as she began to eat. The ox spoke slowly to Hanzar and he replied without looking away. She glanced up and asked, "What? I can't eat here?" A goblin who had been watching them from the bar walked over to the table. He was a bruiser, Garoul could tell.

"What's going on here?"

Nonchalantly, she replied, "Nothing, obviously. I'm just eating with my friends." The bruiser blinked at her, then turned to the troll and seemed to ask the same question.

They conversed for a moment before the goblin said once more, "I know there is something ridiculous going on here, but unless it turns violent, it's not my problem." He stood up and looked between them. "You can't even speak the same language!"

Garoul shrugged her shoulders. "We live in a world where paid interpreters don't exist," she replied, and the goblin gave her a confused expression. "Looking for a job?"

The bruiser looked around and not seeing any fights, he sat down. Garoul went through her pocket and pulled out a gold piece, putting it on the table and pushing it towards him. With wide eyes he took it and murmured, "I could buy a coat and some nice boots with this."

Thus the conversation began. "I'm paying him for this, so it better be good," Garoul told Hanzar. He scowled.

"What do you expect me to say?" His voice was rough, probably from sleep. Everyone had been awoken rather rudely that morning.

"Nothing. But I want to tell you that I regret what happened." She looked down at her hands. "I panicked."

The troll laughed then, and leaned forward to say in a low, menacing tone, "It seemed pretty planned out to me."

When the tauren spoke, Garoul's interpreter had difficulty translating at first. "Hello," he said. The elf was silent. "I am Banik. I have wanted to ask you what happened to the Corporal."

Everyone at the table went silent for a moment. Slowly, Hanzar removed the insignia from a bag and put it down for her to see. The bruiser was clearly confused by the entire exchange.

"We found him in Darkshore," she began. "He had been poisoned. He was wild and horribly mauled. I would not have been concerned was it not for the fact the poison was most definitely one used by the undead." Garoul clasped her hands together. "He begged, but I saw him killed anyway. I felt sorry for what happened, but I wanted someone to know what had become of him."

"His wench was glad to hear he wasn't prisoner," Hanzar spoke up. "There is much strife among the forces of the Horde," he said. "Those of Kalimdor have long held suspicion of the cursed ones, and hearing of an orc death at the hand of an undead does not surprise me."

"There is always strife among alliances," Garoul replied, "I know of those among the Alliance, as well."

Hanzar cleared his throat. "But more importantly..." He took a look at the bruiser, and spoke his next sentence in Troll: "I want to know what you're doing later this evening." He narrowed his eyes. What sounded like a bad pick-up line came out as almost menacing. He had finally wrapped his head around this girl: he knew what it was she was after. She had been afraid, and she liked it.

The goblin seemed to take the hint and relayed the message to Garoul in somewhat broken Darnassian, and the gnome that had been listening in hastily looked away. The elf's eyes grew wide and Banik looked between them confusedly. The elf and troll locked eyes and Garoul quietly replied, "I'm completely free." She felt almost sorry for the bruiser, who looked thunderstruck. He quickly relayed the message and Garoul had to admire his fluency in all the languages of Azeroth. She had finished her bread, so she turned to the goblin and told him, "Thank you for your time. I think we're through." With that, she stood and left.


	6. Part One: Chapter Six

_All right, because this place is lame, I've only put the severely edited version of this chapter here. This is the proper link: http:/ games . adultfanfiction . net /story . php?no=544195107&chapter=6 __(just remove the spaces)_ _I had to cut it down to be rated R rather than NC-17, which ff . net removed because they're lamers. If you want the full effect of this chapter, please read it-you're missing out otherwise. But if you're intent on this whole "rated M" crap, fine._

**Providence**

**Part One**

**Chapter Six**

Banik turned to his troll friend and asked the first thing that came to mind: "What?"

Hanzar was grinning. "Oh, nothing," he said, sloshing his cup of some unidentifiable juice. "Not a damn thing."

She could make it up to him, the stab in the side. He spent the day imagining how—no one had very much to do, of those that stayed to wait out the blizzard. The elf disappeared upstairs and reappeared some hours later with a human, who was so hung over he resembled a drowned rat. Hanzar had busied himself with his devices and was assembling another attempt at the mechanical squirrel when the human stumbled up to the bar and was brought a glass of water without even asking. Garoul spoke to him rapidly, patting his back and occasionally looking at Hanzar from the corner of her eye.

The whole inn was idle for most of the day; some went out for a few minutes, but came in after tromping in the two or three feet of snow blocking the door. How the bats made it out Hanzar couldn't even imagine, but what didn't concern him, he didn't ponder. He was glad for his overlarge chain mail pants when he even began contemplating what the night would bring.

By midday nearly everyone had retired, and those who didn't bother to go upstairs merely slept at the bar or the dozens of tables in the common room. His elf had disappeared, leaving her human friend to flirt and eventually retire as well, a human woman in tow. Banik had fallen asleep and was sitting on the floor against the wall.

One could see even through the fogged windows and falling snow that the sun had set. Hanzar got to his feet and stretched, wary of his healing wound, and headed up to the two halls above the common. Not knowing which room belonged to Garoul, the troll walked past each numbered door toward his own, where he considered waiting.

But sure enough, the elf's quick thinking surprised him again. Partially hidden and shoved under the loose gold numbers of the door only a few before his was his insignia. Removing it, he made sure he had his dagger—just in case, he never knew with this one—and opened the door.

There was one bed in the room, but it looked pleasant enough. Things were scattered all around—balls of thread, dyes, bags of salt, tall wood constructs with hides stretched over them, clothes both finished and unfinished, and a variety of weapons hanging from the far wall. It looked almost to be a permanent residence, as if she had taken up office in Booty Bay for the winter. She looked to be a professional leatherworker in the making; he thought perhaps she had taken over as a journeyman for an expert on vacation. Whatever the case was, he didn't see the one thing he was looking for: the night elf.

Approaching the bed, Hanzar finally saw her, curled at the top and so thin and small he hadn't noticed her at first. She was fast asleep and the way she was lying casually on top of the blankets, she had probably only faded out by accident while waiting for... him.

It was no problem of his that she was elvish, or even a member of the opposite faction; she was pretty and their ingrained hostilities for one another had faded enough—he excused his own personal vendetta—that he could see her as a sex object and not as an enemy.

What Hanzar hadn't expected was an elf to so brashly break through language barriers and racial ones, to disregard everything the troll had thought he knew about the night elves, and even instigate such an interaction. He sat down on the bed and when she didn't awake, he began to remove his large mail boots and equally massive, gold-rimmed gloves. Then, when he was more comfortable—he had exchanged his armored chest plate for a tunic and his mail pants for leather ones—he leaned forward and lightly brushed some of the short, unmanaged hair from her silvery cheeks. This seemed to stir Garoul into life, and she opened one bright, glowing eye.

Some part of him had almost been waiting, fearing, for her to jump in surprise and run away—or even be startled to see him there. Instead she sat up and focused her eyes on him, narrowing her brows and bringing one hand to his throat. The gesture was of touch, he knew immediately, when her expression turned to curiosity and determination.

Garoul had never been able to freely touch a living, breathing troll. When he did nothing but watch her, she sat up on her knees while he drew his own legs up onto the bed and crossed them. What she had imagined being a feverish encounter began almost like two close friends. She imagined they learned more from one another without the ability to communicate at all, than they would have could they speak and understand.

The elf drew her small, long-fingered hand up the taut muscles of his neck. While his build was lanky, the muscle in him ran deep and she guessed there probably wasn't an ounce of fat on him. Kneeling she was far shorter than him, so she traversed downward; her fingers wove down his collar bone over the fabric of his tunic, across his broad, swelled pectorals, and to the keen abdominals that poked out from the cloth. When she looked up at him he smiled a sly smile and grabbed the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up and over his head without even catching it on his tusks.

Garoul let a gasp escape at the pure joy she felt at the sight. She had repeated the entire conversation in the commons to Reich, when he managed to wake up, and he could only laugh and say, "All your dreams come true." How right he was. It was forbidden by her people; Hanzar was rough and untouched by reservations and conservative civilization; he was strange, exotic, and without any preconceptions. There were no limits, none of the boundaries Garoul had long come to despise.

Without hesitation she leaned forward, halfway climbing into his lap, and kissed the first patch of skin she saw. His scent was barbaric—it was the only word she could use to describe it. She could smell grass and sky, dirt and sweat. She heard him intake sharply when she kissed upward, across his collar the way she had come with her hand, to his sharp, square chin. She brought her hands up to examine the long white tusks, running them from the base to the surprisingly sharp tip. They had yellowed some from age but were polished and clean, and she saw his eyes widen when she very lightly kissed the end of one.

Suddenly she felt large hands on her, one clutching her side while the other grabbed her from behind, and she was pulled in for a heavy kiss. She gasped against him when she felt her hips meet his lower abdomen, for the height difference caused her to sit on his thighs in order to meet him face-to-face. She was absorbed by him, despite the slight, sloppy awkwardness of the kiss, and she eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer. Garoul felt his hands running up and down her back, and she felt the light tickle of his coarse hair brushing her forehead. Before she knew what was happening his hand was under her shirt, his callused fingers pressing against her bare skin, and she trembled against him. Quickly her patched red top was gone, joining his somewhere else on the bed, or perhaps the floor—she didn't know.

Never had a woman been able to compete with his sexual stamina, not to mention creativity. He had new respect for the beautiful, naked, flushing elf lying on the bed below him.

There was a moment of silence before Hanzar sat back and Garoul's legs fell to the bed. She sat up as well and they watched each other for a few awkward seconds before the elf decided to make herself useful. Throwing her legs over the side of the bed she moved to stand, but when she relied on her hips for support, her eyes flew wide and her knees buckled; luckily, Hanzar had managed to move fast enough and grabbed her around the waist, hefting her easily into his arms. He carried her rather roughly, but she admitted he tried.

He made his way into the bathroom and hastily set her down in the wood bath there. Water buckets sat on the oven and Hanzar was rather gratified to find they were still warm. Garoul propped herself on one end of the large bath, and looked down, rather shocked to see the dark red that still trickled down her thighs. In silence she saw him lift the buckets, putting two down and hefting the third in with him when he climbed in on the other side. Looking at her, he sighed and leaned down, offering his hand. The elf looked confused, so he pointed to the stains on her legs and said, "Stand, so I can wash you." She seemed to understand this and took the proffered hand, while the other secured her around the waist so she wouldn't topple again. Wetting a sponge Hanzar cleaned her, lifting her easily with one hand when he needed to clean between her legs. She was rather like a doll, he thought, with her light weight and smooth, silver-hued skin. When he had finished scrubbing her he took the bucket and merely dumped it over her head, taking Garoul completely by surprise.

"Why you-!" She moved to hit him, but when she did her soreness caught her and Hanzar had to clutch her against him to keep her from falling.

"Silly elf," he told her, pointing to the far end of the bath. "Sit over there." Somehow she obeyed, managing to sit without hurting herself. Hanzar brought the other two buckets over and sponged himself. He unbraided his hair and used one bucket to wash it, the other to rinse himself. When he was done, he left the bath, with Garoul still sitting inside, and hastily tied his long, blood-red hair back into a braid that fell part of the way down his back. The rest hung around his ears and eyes, wild and untrimmed. When the elf made no move to come out, he left into the bedroom.

Sitting on the bed, Hanzar sighed at the stains they had left there. At least he didn't have to clean it, he thought with some amusement, and pulled on his pants. He tied his boots and pulled on his jerkin, gathering some of her clothes as well and piling them on the corner of the bed. The troll wondered if this was worth the still healing wound in his side, and he moved his hand to cover it. He had mostly forgotten about it during the encounter, for so great had been the feeling of it that it completely absorbed all pain and distraction. He wouldn't kill her, he decided. He pushed his dagger into the pocket on his pants and buttoned it closed.

He was about to leave when he heard a thumping sound and a cry of pain. Curious, he walked back to the bathroom to find Garoul sitting up, seeming to have fallen when she tried to get out of the bath. She gripped the sink and when she saw him, she beckoned him with one hand. The troll approached warily, but when he was close enough she grabbed his waist with one hand, his arm with the other and stood high enough on her toes to kiss him. With that she managed to limp past him and back into the main room, where she collapsed on the bed. Hanzar followed her, watching the naked elf crawl onto the covers, despite the mess, and slide beneath them. He felt some pity for the creature—probably because she looked to have no pity for herself. In fact, when she closed her eyes and pulled the blankets up to her chin, she was smiling rather widely.

Strange thing, he thought, and rubbing her head lightly, he murmured, "See ya, girl," and left.


	7. Part Two: Chapter One

_You won't believe what a lovely KIWIFLUFF did for me! This is Garoul in all her sexy glory--this is some of the most astounding art anyone has ever done for me! THANK YOUUUUU. _www . deviantart . com / deviation / 22038784_ (take out the spaces). Look at some of her other stuff, too, while you're at it!_

**Providence**

**Part Two**

**Chapter One**

Garoul awoke the next morning to a distasteful hum. Her eyes blinked open and she saw it was already growing light, despite the snow that still fell outside; however, her view was blocked by a rather obtrusive shadow.

Reich hovered over her, examining the various stains on the bed. The night looked like it had been a rough one. "Half the inn heard you," he said, taking a step back to sit on the window sill. "At least, I know I did." He cocked one eyebrow at the night elf. She stared down at the bed and the sight shocked her speechless.

"Hm, well," she managed, "that's not my problem, is it?"

The warrior laughed at her and replied, "I wasn't too bothered, myself."

"You're not too bothered by anything." They chuckled for a moment until Reich leaned forward and gave her a serious look.

"So now, I have to know—how was it?"

Garoul noticed she was naked but didn't much care, for she sat up with the blankets wrapped around her. She narrowed her eyebrows. "It was better than anything I could have conjured up." She clenched one fist. "I will see him again, just you wait," she growled. If Reich didn't know her, he would have thought she wanted to kill the troll; but the curl of her lip was not an expression of distaste, but one of extreme... he pondered this. The need for possession. Sometimes she was so male.

"Well, I'm sure he would be downstairs if you wanted to jump him." He smiled slyly. "I saw him there earlier. Can't say he's much of a looker, but your tastes have always been rather strange."

Garoul shook her head. "I don't even know if I'll be able to get up today," she admitted.

Reich laughed and offered, "I'll bring you some breakfast, then."

She wondered how long she had been out when she woke up again to find herself covered in a cloak with the blankets removed, and some bread, butter and bacon on the bare sheets beside her. There was no one in the room, so she hastily ate and set about to putting on her clothes, despite the raw soreness of her thighs and hips.

Garoul glanced around in hope of discovering the hidden location of her bed dressings, but they seemed to have disappeared. Reich must have done something with them, she thought, and let out an exasperated sigh. Tying her bags to her belt the elf left the room and headed downstairs.

Everyone who had remained overnight was stuck—that much she knew. She could see part of a snow drift at the base of a window near the door and sighed. Another elf, a tall man, sat at a barstool by the door; two orcs and a troll were talking in hushed tones across the room; and a short gnomish mage and a human woman were swapping stories near the stairs. There was little here for her to do beside visit the leather store, pick up some more supplies and ready more wares to be sold. Unlike all the various creatures stranded here, she had nowhere in particular to be, and since she took over the operation three days before, lazing around the common had become routine. Here she looked at new designs, ones she had bought, found, or created herself, and wrote down the materials she would need to create them.

Garoul decided to drink that night and by noon, she requested a small glass of wine. There was very little else to do for most visitors but drink, and the bar began to fill into the afternoon.

She saw a familiar, light blue troll settle next to her on a bar stool at around two, and she only looked at him briefly as to avoid any unnecessary attention. The room was still rather empty. Garoul wrote more notes in her large recipe book, adding a stencil sketch to one of her more stylistic designs. She could feel Hanzar's eyes on her at first, traveling down her arm to the paper on the bar, which then attracted enough of his attention that he actually leaned in to get a better look.

"I wish you could understand me," she muttered quietly, and she saw him pause. He whispered in Orcish back to her and the guttural sound stirred something familiar in her. Thinking for a brief moment, she flipped the page in her book and began to draw.

She began with a really awful doodle of herself, with some written Common coming out. She then drew a door with her room number, and another doodle of himself—also rather bad—with a few broken words of Common from his mouth as well. She put the pencil down and looked at him with a questioning expression.

He was rather bright for a troll—she'd always been told the Horde had very little when it came to brains, but Hanzar had proved far brighter than herself in picking up on nuances and gestures. The troll looked tentatively at the drawing and then, looking at her, he slowly nodded his head. With a smile she closed the book and signaling him to wait, she turned and left upstairs.

When she reached her room, Garoul saw her blanket had been cleaned and replaced, and everything looked as it had the day before. Unaware any maids of any kind existed at the inn, she shrugged her shoulders dismissively and walked to the window to look outside.

Some afternoon light managed its way through the white-out, but for the most part all she could see was snow. If the blizzard didn't let up by that evening, they would all be stuck here for at least another two days—the kind of hostilities that could erupt in that period of time were numerous and rather severe. She sighed and closed the curtain, walking back to her bed where she sat and waited.

Her door tentatively opened some minutes later, and after looking up and down the hall, Hanzar slipped inside. He wore sandals this time, and a long, cloth shirt with loose pants that came to his knees. They watched one another for a few moments before he came over and sat down on the bed beside her, looking rather stiff.

There was no delaying, Garoul realized, with the language barrier between them, so she launched right into the reason they had met. She began with the basics.

She pointed at him and in clear Common, she said, "You."

He looked at her for a moment and in a gruff voice replied, "You."

And that was where it began. After teaching him a few basic words, he turned the table on her and repeated the same ones in Orcish. Confused at first, Garoul picked up his meaning and for every word she gestured or drew, Hanzar repeated the lesson to her in his own language. She found the accent extremely difficult at first, but then she learned that many of the sounds flowed together more smoothly than Common—almost like the natural sounds of her own native language. When she recognized what they had in common she found it far easier.


	8. Part Two: Chapter Two

**Providence**

**Part Two**

**Chapter Two**

Hanzar had mixed feelings: while he really wanted to do with the pretty elf now what they had done the night before, he actually found the lesson to be rather interesting. She had completely taken him by surprise in the bar with her request, and he had to look over it once more before he agreed—just to be sure. But he couldn't resist giving back as good as he got, so when she began with that vile human language, he decided it was only fair she learn his language, as well.

After they had gone over the more basic words, Garoul launched into real sentences. She had written some words in the rather elegant Common scrawl in her book, and using her pen she put them together in a way he thought did make reasonable sense. The structure of it seemed easy enough, Hanzar thought, and he found it rather simple to put the words together in a way his elf approved of. She would smile and nod, and at that small acknowledgment he felt almost... proud. He was like a child waiting for each word of praise from his teacher, and he hated it—but who knew when his new knowledge would come in handy? The possibilities were endless, and he had always liked the sound of that.

It was when they reached the more complicated words that he saw Garoul begin to have trouble. More abstract concepts she could not relay, and Hanzar thought it humorously ironic that their language had become so sophisticated that body language was now nearly obsolete. Instead of letting the elf fret over her attempts at drawing, he instead took the reins of the lesson and pulled himself fully onto the bed. Facing her, he grinned at her surprised expression when he grabbed one of her hands in is own. He began with her finger.

"Finger," he said, rubbing her tiny index. She repeated the word to his satisfaction. He moved up and held her palm. "Hand."

"Hand," was her response.

They moved around her thumb and wrist, up her arm to her shoulder and over to her neck. From there he made a beeline down to her stomach, where he hooked one finger under her shirt and said, "Shirt."

"Shirt."

He lifted it then, and she raised her arms without protest so he could draw the sleeves up over her hands. In one smooth motion he flung the garment across the room and smiled—a hungry smile, barely concealed by the tusks protruding from his upper jaw. Her eyes were now wide as he touched her face and said, "beautiful."

She looked confused for a moment and asked, "Beautiful?" He touched her hair and cupped her chin in both of his palms.

He leaned forward and nodded, lightly kissing her nose, and said, "Beautiful."

--

Garoul didn't want to breathe for fear of ruining the moment. His eyes, reddish in hue, were focused on her so intently she felt almost self-conscious.

Slowly she reached up and touched his nose, whispering, "Nose."

He replied, "nose."

"Cheeks."

"Cheeks."

She ran her fingers over his lips and murmured, "Lips."

Garoul leaned forward and just before they met in a kiss, he whispered, "Lips."

The paper on the bed was discarded and found itself on the floor, along with the rest of their clothes. While the previous night's encounter had been slow at first and rapidly degenerated into something primal and hasty, their touches were tentative and curious, and their movement slow and deliberate.

It was dark when they sat on the bed, naked, talking.

"I have a cat." The elf made a meowing noise and Hanzar laughed. "He is mine." She pointed to herself.

"He is mine," he repeated and she laughed, shaking her head, and said, "No, he's mine."

Instead, he pointed to her and said, "You are mine."

There was no laugh. She stared at him, and the troll took a bit of her soft hair in his callused hands. "Mine." Garoul gulped. She couldn't read his expression when he shook his head and looked away.

"Hanzar?" Her fingers brushed his cheek like a feather, and ran up the length of his smooth tusk. She used the Orcish word and said, "Beautiful."

At this, Hanzar laughed. He shook his head, pointing to himself, and said, "Handsome." Then he pointed to her, "beautiful." Garoul blushed at her mistake, but feeling cheeky, she shook her head and said, "No, beautiful." He gave her a mock scowl and she chuckled.

--

The troll had to admit she was smart, for an elf. He knew the Alliance boasted some of the more famous minds on Azeroth, but he was convinced that many of the Horde were far smarter than the average moron human or snobby night elf. They had logic and reason while the elves surrounded themselves with books and magic. Of course, he knew he was prejudiced, and not as informed as he could be—but already he was discovering that this particular elf was nothing like anything he could have expected. He very distinctly got the feeling she wasn't much like a usual elf, either.

It had become dark outside and Hanzar was relieved to see that the snow had let up and the night was clear, with stars dotting the sky, and the moon shed a pleasant glow on the white world outside. He was teaching her how to write "worg" in the chicken-scratch Orcish script. Compared to the orderly, block-like letters of Common, Orcish had very few standards for written language. He spoke as she wrote.

"The worg howled at night," he told her. To demonstrate, he walked to the window and let out a howl. Garoul jumped, and let out a loud, ringing laugh. She pointed to him and laughed again.

"Silly?" he asked. She nodded her head and with a snort she said, "Silly. Much silly."

She stood up as well and walked up beside him, one hand touching the cool window. "The worg howl in night," she told him.

"At night," he corrected. "In happiness."

The elf raised her eyebrows. "Happiness?"

Turning to her Hanzar wrapped his arms around her naked middle and looked down, lifting one hand to run it down the length of her back. Her head barely reached his shoulder. "Happy." He used one finger to draw a smiling face on the fogged window, and she nodded her head.

"The worg howl at night, in happy." All he could do was laugh and nod his head.

"Good job."

--

Garoul awoke with a start. It was still dark outside, she noticed with puzzlement. When had she fallen asleep? Noticing a very comfortable, large warmth on her backside, the elf saw an immense blue arm slung casually over her where she lay beneath the blankets. She turned over and examined the troll's sleeping face. He was on top of the blankets, and it looked as if he had tucked her in before falling asleep himself. Their stack of papers lay at her feet, and the small tin of ink sat on the window sill. She wondered briefly if his tusks pressing into the pillow was uncomfortable.

Not knowing what time it was, she carefully removed his arm from her and he snorted a bit, shifting but not waking up. The room was rather warm, she noticed, and she rose from the bed to open one window. She wondered how on earth she was sleeping with a troll like they were old lovers. The idea of it boggled her; only days before he had looked ready to shove a knife into her throat.

She laughed at the thought that first came to mind: sex solves everything. Reich would agree with that, she knew. When she turned back to the bed she saw Hanzar awake, head propped up on one elbow, eyes watching her curiously. Garoul walked back to the bed and sat on the edge. She was wide awake now, for they had drifted off much earlier than was usual for her. She would have work to do tomorrow to make up for a rather unproductive evening. She had forgotten to remove a stretched boar hide, she remembered suddenly and jumped to her feet.

The troll said nothing as she bustled over to her stretchers, pulling on a pair of pants on her way. There she carefully pried open her wooden clamps and pulled down the raw leather. She shook it, some dust floating up, and laid it down with a stack of other hides on the floor nearby. Garoul knew there was some bear leather she needed to stretch, but she would have to fetch her smaller wooden contraption from the leatherworking shop later. The expert worker, a rather obnoxious gnomish woman, was out on a gatherer trip. She would hopefully return with a wagon of new hides, for the elf found herself running rather low on materials for her next shipment of boots to Ratchet.

She heard a voice say in Common, "Sit now." Garoul laughed at the brokenness of his vocabulary and turned to the impatient-looking troll.

"One minute." Taking some salt from her chest of supplies, she sprinkled her hides and rubbed them together, lips pursed with thought. She would have to get working early tomorrow in order for the bear leather to be ready by evening. Once she was satisfied she made her way back to the bed, climbing up to find herself pulled into his lap. She was still rather sore from earlier and she tried to scramble away, but he held her by the forearms and forced her to look at him.

He opened his mouth to ask a question, but pausing, he took the papers and lead pencil, scribbling a bucket of water. He pointed to himself, then the water, and said something in Orcish.

"Bath?" He nodded his head.

"Bath." She laughed.

"Isn't it rather early?" she drew a horizon with a sun just peeking over the top, and shrugged her shoulders.

"Not," he said.

"Not early?"

"Yes." They both laughed then, and he pointed to the bathroom.

"Bath now." He pointed to her and waved one hand over his nose, as if she emitted some terrible odor.

Garoul gaped. "Stinky! I do not stink!" Hanzar said something in Orcish that she was sure meant the same thing, and so she repeated it with clear annoyance in her tone. Huffing, she got to her feet and walked to the bathroom, the troll in tow.

Hanzar admired his view as he walked behind her. She had a rather pleasantly round butt, he admitted, wanting to grab it but wanting to clean himself from the salt lingering on his skin. He had sweat so much before that his skin itched.

The elf leaned down to turn on the oven, using a match to light the fire. She lifted two buckets of cold water onto the burner and indicated to him to sit down in the large wooden bath. He obeyed and after only a few minutes she removed the two buckets and carried them herself to the holding container. With a clear view of her legs Hanzar watched her remove her pants and climb into the bath as well. There he steered her to his lap, an action which she attempted to combat but his firm hands prevented objection. He reacted, naturally, but ignored it as he wet the sponge and began washing her smooth, pink back. She hummed with pleasure.

For the troll, it was completely new. He never stayed the night, lounged naked, bathed, or flirted; but he found it all to be quite entertaining and a fabulous way to spend his idle hours waiting for the boat. He wondered if elves were trained as pleasure machines, for he had never received as much gratification from sex as he did from this small, soft, gorgeous creature. She knew all the right spots and though he tried to give back as good as he got, he found himself to be too large and rough. This simple fact seemed to please her, though, for the less gentle he was, the more she liked it.

He reached under her arms and, lifting them, began to scrub her chest, a heady gasp escaping her lips when he scrubbed her breasts and they bounced. He immediately felt her nipples harden under his fingers but he refused to give in so easily; waiting was more worthwhile. He scrubbed her stomach, hips and thighs.

"Foot?" she asked, wiggling her toes. She remembered, Hanzar thought with a snort. He nodded and she turned around in his lap, crossing her legs as she did so; he took her calf and foot, scrubbing them thoroughly. Her feet were so soft, he mused—she always wore shoes, unlike him. Unless he had custom-made boots, he hardly bothered with shoes. The soles of his feet were black and rough, so he stopped for a moment to rub his hands once more across the bottom of her foot before moving on to the other one.

They were both like young children in their attempts to communicate. But they were trying.


	9. Part Two: Chapter Three

_I say: fuck this place. Seriously. If it weren't the only place to get readers, I would never post at FF. net again. I had to cut out about a page of stuff here because though not too explicit, I just couldn't be sure what should and shouldn't go here. AAHHH. Note to FF: STOP SUCKING!_

_Go check out the REAL P2: C3 adultfan . nexcess . net / aff / story . php?no544195107&chapter9 (minus the spaces). Also, if you can't somehow go to aff . net, just toss me an email, and I'll hook you up._

_If you're lame and just don't like "erotic scenes," there really isn't any graphic sex in this one, and if you DON'T read the real version, you're missing a serious moment. Like, cuteness. And stuff. I'll stop rambling so you can get on with your reading. Also, shoot me a review or an email, I love hearing from people. This has been one of my most fun projects yet._

**Providence**

**Part Two**

**Chapter Three**

It was late the next day when Garoul stumbled into the inn, her entire body covered in snow, and her feet soggy from saturation. She had spent the afternoon in the shop selling her wares, and the morning preparing them. The time she had wasted the day before was catching up with her and she almost hoped she wouldn't bump into Hanzar on her way upstairs just so she could finish the rest of her chores before she went to bed.

Her wish came true and she made it to her room without incident. She witnessed a woman dwarf and an orc arguing on the stairs but by the time she passed them, a goblin had come to manage the conflict. Most of those stranded seemed to spend their time sleeping or drinking, and she knew they were in for a rude surprise when the sun finally came out. All ready nearly everyone was grumpy and hung over.

She laughed when she thought of the night before. While the rest of the inn had a horrid cabin fever, she was having the time of her life. Her musings were interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"The boy next door!" she heard Reich call from the other side. Garoul laughed.

"Come in, stupid!"

The door clicked open and the human glanced around, as if looking for her troll friend, and walked across to sit on her bed. "I heard you guys at it again," he told her. The elf was sitting on the floor sewing some bracers. "Your voice is really quite musical when you get it up there." He laughed when her mouth dropped open and she hurled one of her large bars of saddle soap at him. It sailed past his head with a whistle, falling to the bed.

"So? Tell me about it. Where is this going?"

Garoul clicked her tongue. "Going? There's nothing to be going anywhere," she told him with slight annoyance.

"Really? I saw tall, blue and handsome leaving this morning," Reich replied thoughtfully. "I don't usually spend the night somewhere unless I actually like the girl."

The elf rolled her eyes. "Actually, we were working on something."

"What, building up your sexual stamina?"

"No!" She hissed out a breath between her teeth and rubbed the leather harder to smooth it. "I'm teaching him Common."

Reich raised one eyebrow. For what possible reason would she want to abandon her blessing of no communication? "Why would you do that?"

"So we can talk, you idiot," Garoul growled at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You must be crazy. If I could screw a girl and not have her talk, I would be the happiest man alive."

"Unlike you," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I find communication to be educational." She set down the bracer she was working on and pulled out her stencil. "He's teaching me some Orcish, as well."

There was a momentary silence before the warrior asked, genuinely confused, "Why would you want to know that language?"

Suddenly Garoul stood up, throwing her stencil to the floor and stomping one foot. "This is the problem!" she shouted, walking to him, and pointing one finger right at his face. Reich very much wondered if she would smite him with a bolt of thunder from her sinister-looking finger. "We think we're too good to talk to them, too good to reason with them!" She let out a long breath and forced herself to relax. "I have nothing against killing them, but don't you think it would be nice to have everyone understand one language when you're sitting in the inn at Booty Bay, a goblin making announcements of boat delays? As a trader I'm finding a few words of Orcish to be incredibly useful to my business. Hell, if I could master the language, I would spend all my time doing this!" She sighed, then, and sat down on the bed beside her thunderstruck friend.

"Well," he said at last, being careful with his words, "I guess that makes sense, but I still don't understand why you would want to know anything that troll has to say."

At this, the elf couldn't help but wonder too. She remembered a conversation they had managed the night before.

"Rogue," he had said, "how is?"

She blinked for a moment, then said, "Being a rogue?" He nodded. He had found the word out when she had shown off her shadow melding to him. "I like hiding in shadows." Each sentence she managed she had to help him understand with gestures and drawings. "I like not being seen when I don't want to be." Sometimes she used Orcish words if they applied. "And warrior? How is it?"

"Big sword," was his only reply. She had burst out laughing.

"He is a lot smarter than I expected," Garoul said at last. "If only we could speak better, I would learn so much from him."

Keeping his eyes on her, Reich lightly touched her cheek and asked, "Do you like him?"

At this the elf blinked. "Like? What do you mean by that?"

"You enjoy his company?"

At this, she laughed. "His company mostly consists of amazing sex," she replied. She held up two fingers. "Two orgasms in one go!"

Reich groaned and with exasperation evident in his tone said, "I didn't want to know that!" The topic seemed forgotten when they both giggled like children.

She was about to go back to her work when the warrior asked, "But really... What will you do when everything opens again? Even if it is just great sex, I usually ditch my girls after the first two days."

Garoul shrugged her shoulders. "What will be will be. It's not like anything more can come of it."

Seeming satisfied with this answer, Reich was quiet. Seeing there was no more she had to say he got to his feet and went to the door. "You're my friend, Gari. Take care of yourself, I don't trust him." With that, he left.

Just when she was finishing for the night and sleep was beginning to cloud her vision, Garoul heard another knock on the door. "Go away, Reich, I'm going to bed."

She heard a familiar voice on the other side of the door ask in Orcish, "Elf?" With a speed she didn't know she had, she pulled open the door to find Hanzar standing just outside. They both looked up and down the hall before she grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him inside, slamming the door behind him.

--

Careful to not wake the elf, Hanzar hefted her into his arms and moved up the bed, where he placed her beneath the blankets. Then he walked around the room, extinguishing each lamp before he climbed in beside her. His breath caught in his throat when she curled up to him, head pressed to his chest and ears sticking out over the blankets. She murmured incoherently and her hands came to rest comfortingly on his stomach. With a sigh the troll wrapped his arms around her and drifted off without a moment's hesitation.


	10. Part Two: Chapter Four

**Providence**

**Part Two**

**Chapter Four**

The sun was shining in when Hanzar woke. In the night they had shifted: he had slung one leg over hers and she was comfortably trapped there; one of his hands gripped her thigh while hers were curled at her chest, and her head was wedged between his neck and shoulder.

When he saw that the pier was visible and the ocean was calm beyond, he jerked up. The elf was startled out of sleep and, confused, she made a whimpering sound when he launched out of the bed and hastily began putting on his clothes.

"Haanz--?" her word was interrupted by a yawn. The boats were tied at the dock, and he knew if he didn't hurry he would easily miss his only chance until either the next week or the next storm that created a delay once more. He pulled on his shirt and he growled when it caught on his tusk; he pulled it, too lazy to adjust it, and it ripped. With a curse he sat on the bed and pulled on his boots. The troll jerked when he felt lips on his neck and hands on his hips. "No," she said in Orcish. She pointed to the door.

"Leave," he said, "I have to leave."

"No leave," she said again. Hanzar shrugged her off, having tied his first boot, and set to the second one. When he was finished he turned and looked at the beautiful creature sitting on the bed behind him. Her expression was unreadable, but her lips were twisted in an unhappy expression.

"Sorry girl," he told her, touching her cheek with his knuckles. She narrowed her eyes. "Time for me to go." He pointed to the window.

Garoul drew back and looked away. The troll sighed. He knew there was a reason he didn't stay the night. But considering their last three days together, the thought did seem rather cold—but trolls weren't known for giving a shit if they were cold or not. He stood up then and stretched for a moment.

The night elf was standing as well. Hanzar's eyes traveled down her smooth body, from her strong shoulders and rather muscular arms to her slim waist and powerful-looking thighs. Her hands were straight at her sides and she looked to be waging some sort of inner war. Suddenly she advanced on him, grabbing his tusks in her hands, and kissed him. He issued a muffled objection against her lips but she was... too strong? She grabbed his forearms in her hands and squeezed so hard he knew he would bruise. When he was about to push her away she stood back and in one fluid motion, she socked him in the face.

Hanzar stood in complete shock. His hand held his face and he was sure he could feel blood in his mouth. Pain seared through his jaw and when he stared at her with anger and surprise, she pointed to the door. Her stance was aggressive and her toe tapped impatiently.

"Get out," she said in Common. "When I see you again..." she drew one finger across her throat. "I'll kill you."

What had set her off he didn't know—he hadn't promised to stay, and hell, it was lucky for her he remained for the night as he had. With a scowl he turned and replied in Orcish, "And I'll return the favor!"

Neither had understood one another, but the message was clear. The troll slammed the door behind him and, still nursing his jaw, he stalked down the hall to his own room. There he threw his things together—they were not very numerous—and left to the stairs. He paid his tab and when the surprised-looking goblin offered him some ice for his searing red face, he only snarled and left.

"What right does she have?" Hanzar demanded from no one in particular. Snow still covered most of Booty Bay, but the boats had been covered with tarps during the storm and looked no worse for the wear. He put his turtle-shell shield on his back and tightened it, then patted his sword sheath.

The troll jumped when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned around to see Banik watching him with curious eyes. "What?" Hanzar demanded.

The arms warrior shook his head. "Looking for you. Boats boarding soon." Banik stuck his massive hands in his pockets. "Where elfie?"

Unintentionally the troll looked up at the window he knew overlooked the harbor, and his eyes bugged when he saw her sitting on the window sill, naked, her arms wrapped around her knees. He knew no one would see her unless they specifically looked, but her boldness astounded him.

And the idea of anyone else looking at her gave him a twinge of anger. Banik followed his eyes and murmured, "Strange elfie." Hanzar glared at his friend. "But pretty."

True to Banik's word the pair found themselves on the boat half an hour later, pulling away from the dock. Hanzar found a room for the trip in the massive underbelly of the ship, and he shoved his things beneath the bed. The tauren had remained on deck to watch the city as they left. The cold permeated everything, and Hanzar shrugged on his cloak—when he remembered just who had made it.

He sighed. "What made her...?" he murmured confusedly. He was still angry, but couldn't fathom what made her lash out the way she did. Surely she didn't...

Of course. Women were always clinging, the troll thought with chagrin. She must have thought he was going to stay, for some bizarre reason. Not only was it completely inappropriate considering they were from opposite factions, but they were lucky to not be noticed together at the inn as it was. It was a fling and an enjoyable one, admittedly, but Hanzar couldn't begin to understand why she would think they could stay together as they were.

"Besides," he said out loud, "I didn't lead her on at all, and neither did she of me." So he was puzzled—and he would probably never know the answer. Instead he sat back on the bunk and nursed the steady pain in his jaw.

--

Garoul sat on the sill, lost in thought. It was silly and stupid, but it offended her elvish nature. In her society one never simply left after establishing even a minor friendship—the one departing offered some sort of compensation, as a token of their acquaintance. Something to remember them by, maybe, or merely a closing gesture, but one never simply left. It was rude and distasteful. She thought of it as spitting on the rather enjoyable time they had spent together.

Still, it was hardly that. Some angry, distasteful part of her didn't want to let him walk away, knowing it was unlikely she would see his face again. Once she let go, it was gone. What she held on to she didn't know: what was there for her to see? The instinct in her held, with disregard for anything but the feeling in her bones when he touched her, spoke to her, and her heart beat much too fast.

The elf rubbed her knuckles again. They hurt and were already turning an angry red. She wouldn't tell Reich what had happened—she wouldn't tell anyone. She could already hear the lie in her head. "He kissed me and said, 'Goodbye, maybe we will meet again.'" Reasonable, she thought, and went to get dressed.

--

Winter in the Barrens was non-existent. The dead ground burned and the sun was as merciless as any other time of year; though the climate change had been gradual during their trip, Hanzar was still sweating when they reached the center of commerce in the great cursed land: the Crossroads.

He had mostly managed to push his escapade with the little night elf out of his mind after their two-week-long journey across the ocean. Ah, magical boats, he thought to himself. Hanzar and Banik were to set out for the Morshan Rampart for a recruit call when they were accosted on the streets of the Crossroads.

A female tauren, white and black in color, had nearly frightened Banik—which was a very difficult feat, Hanzar admitted—when she grabbed him roughly by the wrist and jerked him around. She had clearly been much stronger and her leafy shoulders and wolf mask showed off either her wealth or her adventurousness. The latter was far more likely, considering her gruffness and the scars that covered her bare arms.

The two had begun to speak loudly in Taurahe, and what the troll had thought was becoming a very hostile argument suddenly degenerated when his friend grabbed the tauren woman and hugged her.

Hanzar's jaw dropped. Banik looked at him and said, "Meet me later," and, grabbing the woman by the arm, they disappeared. Where they went, the troll didn't know—but so shocked was he that it took a moment to register what had been said before he stalked off to the tavern for a drink.

What he had thought was a random encounter proved to be quite more. Banik never really talked about himself, or anything for that matter, and now Hanzar knew why. The strange tauren had been his wife, a druid of considerable skill and fame, and the two had not seen one another for over a year. When they rendezvoused at the bar, the troll was stunned to learn that Banik had decided to go home with the powerful woman to their home in Mulgore. She had suffered an injury to her leg and was leaving her duty to the Horde unless they absolutely needed to, and her husband felt it was his duty to care for her and keep her company.

Hanzar found himself walking alone and hunched over—more than usual—to the desolate land of the Thousand Needles. He stopped often to examine the land around him, mine veins of silver and gold, or work on one of the many contraptions he carried unfinished in a large sack at his side. His life had suddenly degenerated into a boring, useless existence. He felt no need to do the chores the Darkspear assigned to him or report to Thrall as he had been asked to do—he wanted nothing more than to descend into the dangerous valley of the needles and look for gold.

He knew a battle was brewing, but he had no desire to participate. It was a conflict of rather epic proportions he thought poetically. The night elves of Ashenvale had long known of the Horde logging operation there, but had not had the resources to combat it. The camp had remained within its limits and exercised caution in its management, to avoid the disintegration of the rather beautiful Nightsong Woods. In recent months, Hanzar had heard, they had been forced to expand operations due to outrunner attacks on the camp and a lack of actual resources in the marked land.

Naturally, the night elves had not liked this, and Alliance forces were gathering in Darkshore and in the entire area from the Zoram Strand to Astranaar. Already the Horde outpost of Zoram'gar was routinely attacked, and their guards there were at a loss, with their numbers diminishing and the attacks becoming more frequent and severe. They were calling on all warriors—and anyone with battle experience in general—to report to Morshan, where an attack would be launched on the city of Astranaar.

Hanzar told himself he didn't want to get involved because he sided with the elves on this one, or he was too burned out to defend his kinsmen.

But he knew it was really because he feared seeing her there, on the other side of the battle field, wanting to kill and needing to be killed herself.

So the troll spent the next five months roving the dead lands. He was a hermit and a recluse; no one approached him and he kept to himself. By the time he saw a frantic troll messenger pass by him on the road into Durotar, he could do no more to avoid it.

Everyone was being recruited now. He had heard rumors passing through Camp Taurajo of soldiers spilling out of Orgrimmar and creating mobs in the mountains near Morshan. There were vagrant camps and still, it wasn't enough—the Alliance had mobilized just as quickly and possibly in greater numbers, if scout numbers were correct.

Alone and angry, Hanzar signed up for the first raid he saw and was greeted with a miserable sight: everyone was there. Teenagers, untrained grunts, decorated commanders, and skilled adventurers like himself. They departed the capital by mounts, for there were as many undead on their death steeds as there were raptors or kodo; those who didn't have one were fitted with one they would have to leave behind once they reached the rampart.

They reached their destination in one day of hard riding. Other raids were waiting there, while an immense field of white tents extended up the hill and onto the mountains above. Curious, the troll tapped the shoulder of a orc woman riding beside him as they approached.

"What are those?"

"Medical tents," she replied. "For the injured."

Neither of them would add, or the dead.


	11. Part Three: Chapter One

_I am nervous about posting this for good reason. I wrote this story all at once and I wasn't sure how I liked this ending—this is how it should be, and it can't be any other way, but I don't know how well it will be received. So, I guess, this is the story, and I'm sorry if you don't like it._

**Providence**

**Part Three**

**Chapter One**

Hanzar awoke, sweating and startled. His heart raced. Where was his raid? He found he couldn't see, and the rough leather of the commander's voice was no longer ringing in his ears. Moving to his feet he felt an incredible pain shoot through his leg and he howled, falling to the ground. He blinked a few times and realized that it wasn't his vision at all that hindered him—it was merely that the tree cover blocked out the moon's light. Adjusting to the dark he glanced down at the source of his problem: an immense gash in his leg, deep enough he could make out the bone beneath layers of mauled muscle.

Struggling to pull out his bag of bandages, he quickly filled the wound with cloth and bound it with silk, biting his lip to stop from crying out with pain. He looked to see that the point of one of his tusks had broken, and only when he had bound the wound and lay back on the ground did he stop to wonder what had happened to him.

They had been making good progress—the raid of forty was still mostly in-tact when they reached Raynewood. Then they had seen movement along the path to the west: the clash had been incredible. The raid was overwhelmed by the Alliance, and Hanzar had been chased into the woods by a man on his horse and two dwarves. There they had attempted to gang up on him. The troll had covered a good portion of himself with his shield while he slammed his sword into the human's head. He had fallen over, eyes still wide, blood gushing from his skull. One dwarf had embedded his mace into Hanzar's leg before he fell to a blow by an undead warrior who had appeared out of nowhere. The second dwarf had taken on the skeleton, but not before Hanzar, dizzy from blood loss, had fallen and rolled down the hill into a grove off the main road.

Now, when he crawled up the incline, he saw bodies everywhere. Horde and Alliance alike, they were mauled and bloody, and he nearly vomited from the smell. Hanzar had never seen anything like it before. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him that stirred his insides: was she there?

He managed to his foot, somehow dragging it behind him as he hopped on one leg. He looked over the bodies, stopping at every blue-haired night elf he saw, and none of them were as distinct as she—though for some, as he went, it was hard to tell through the blood and gore. Bodies trailed off the road for a distance, and he wondered just how many had been there. There were far more Horde than Alliance, he noted with chagrin, and kept on, doubting anyone would see a limping troll off the side of the road.

When the next day came, Hanzar again wondered where he was or how he'd gotten there. He didn't remember falling asleep the night before, and found himself sprawled uncomfortably on the side of a hill. With a fierce jolt of pain he found himself unable to stand, and instead managed to crawl his way down the incline to a small glade. He felt a tinge of mortality; he was fevering madly and his wound had begun to look quite bad. Holding in a cry of agony he removed the bandage and applied another, thanking his foresight in learning the trade.

When the afternoon wore on he heard footsteps and, still holding a shred of self-preservation, he hid behind a thick bunch of flora, peering through the bushes. He saw nothing but the conversation seemed to have halted, then began to move away. With little to lose the troll decided to follow it, and gripping a tree, he managed himself to one foot. He limped away from the road and towards the voices, which continued moving as he followed them.

After some minutes, when they had moved a good deal into the deep forest, the sounds stopped and he managed to get closer. An immense sigh of release escaped his lips when he heard Orcish from the other side of the trees.

He was about to peer into the glade when the Orcish stopped, and he heard the familiar Common. Perplexed, he lay down and looked through the wall of moss blocking the glade.

Though he could only see one of their backs, he saw two elves and a human sitting in the glade. They looked completely care-free, now talking amongst themselves in Common. He definitely picked up some of the words, for he had been somewhat studying the language the past few months. The human warrior looked vaguely familiar, but their voices had all commingled and he couldn't pick out an individual one to focus on. His head had begun to swim and he knew despite his efforts, he was losing blood too fast for him to survive.

Deciding he would rather go out fighting, he used a nearby tree to get to his feet once more. He made enough noise that the chatter stopped, and the human asked, "What was that noise?"

Hanzar pushed himself into the small glade, sword drawn and shield out. Immediately the two elves jumped to their feet, one a little slower than the other, and the human was soon to follow. However, when they saw him, the human's eyes went wide. Momentarily stunned by the quick movement, the troll swayed on his one good foot; then, looking around, he wondered why they weren't attacking him.

Then he saw her.

Her glowing eyes were narrowed, and her dark lips were slightly open in shock. She had one weapon on her but it wasn't drawn; and looking down, he knew why.

Her belly was swollen in a way he knew could be nothing other than—

His thought process stopped halfway and he fell to the ground.

--

Garoul watched in complete horror as a troll stumbled through the trees, leg completely drenched with blood that had coagulated in a large bandage, and the rest of his body splattered with the same; he was covered with bruises, cuts and gashes, and she knew him right away.

When he toppled over, she had been unable to control the way she carefully kneeled in front of him and drew his head onto her lap. Reich sheathed his sword and hovered over them, while Adelian stood confused some feet away.

"It's... it's him, isn't it?" Garoul slowly nodded her head. She could never have imagined anything like this—not even in the most bizarre of her dreams. "Oh, Gari..." The human knew there was absolutely nothing he could say.

The night elf leaned over Hanzar, lightly touching his forehead. "He's fevering. Bring me that skin of water," she commanded, her demeanor immediately changing. Both her friends knew this side of her and rushed to do her bidding. When she was holding the cool water she tore off a piece of her blue cloth shirt and poured the water onto it, pressing it to his forehead, where his sweat kept it there. Immediately she tore the legs of his pants so no stray fabric got in her way; passing off the troll's head to her backpack, she maneuvered her larger self to where she could elevate his foot on her knee.

"Do you have those bandages still, Reich?" she asked, and he immediately responded, "Yes." He dropped the bag beside her and took a step back, neither he nor the druid wanting to get too close. She was always volatile if the topic of the troll came up, and they didn't know what to expect.

Garoul carefully removed the newly-applied, but still bloody bandage, and tossed it to the ground. "Adelian!" The elf immediately came up beside her, kneeling, looking to her with wide eyes for a command. "I want you to put some of this back together."

The druid only nodded and did as she requested. He put his hands over the leg and a soft, green glow began to emanate from them. Before their eyes the muscle began to reform, reattach and regrow—it was mostly healed, and the skin had begun to stitch when the elf gasped, his spell faltering, and leaned back. Garoul only nodded her head and applied a new bandage to mop up the slight blood that trickled and taped it to cover the bare muscle. She looked over the rest of his wounds and bound the few that looked dangerous, and merely rubbed water over the rest.

When she was done, Reich thought the troll looked much better than before. His elf friend changed the cool cloth on his forehead and left him at the far side of the camp when she went to refill the water skin from the creek they had just passed nearby.

While she was gone, Reich and Adelian looked at each other. "Is... this him? Is this the one?" Reich only nodded his head. "Oh..." He trailed off. "What should we do?"

The human only shook his head. "Nothing we can do. I'm amazed he found us here. He must have been in the battle yesterday. The wound didn't look fresh." He sighed and sat down by his own bag, putting his face in his hands. "I didn't want to deal with this again, not when I thought everything was going all right."

Adelian nodded his head and replied, "Me neither. But maybe... maybe this will be good."

"How can this possibly be a good thing?" Reich demanded, suddenly furious. He rose to his feet. "We've spent nearly four months repairing the damage he did. If I had known any of this was going to happen, I would have killed him when I first saw him in Booty Bay." He shook his head. "I don't want to find her in a pool of her own blood again, Adel." The druid could only sigh.

"Well, if we let them work it out, I think it will be all right."

"You're always the optimist."


	12. Part Three: Chapter Two

_To everyone who have been leaving reviews: Thanks so much for even letting me know there are readers! To answer the question about the pool of blood thing: it's up to you to make of it what you will. This is a story, it speaks for itself, and at the same time readers will interpret it in their own way. I can't tell you what to think if it wasn't explicitly stated in the story. :)_**  
**

**Providence**

**Part Three**

**Chapter Two**

Hanzar opened his eyes and found himself rather comfortable. His leg ached but the pain had dulled since he last remembered.

He jolted his head up and looked around. It was dark, and he briefly wondered what day it was—but more importantly, he wondered where he had found himself this time, and if what he last remembered had been a dream.

Asleep some distance away he saw the human and the long-haired elf. The warrior had his sword on the ground beside him. When he didn't see Garoul, he thought he must have imagined it. He sighed.

"Hello," he heard in crude Orcish. He spun around to see what he was glad and horrified to see: she stood just inside the cover of the trees, her hands at her sides and her hair slightly longer than he remembered. Her eyes and face were still the same, but it looked as if she had aged some. He saw her belly and wondered if the other elf was the father, but decided it didn't concern him when she sat down beside him.

She drew her knees up to her chest and nervously held them there, glancing between him and the ground. "We fixed you," she told him in a quiet voice. The elf rubbed her leg. "How... how have you been?"

It took a moment for him to realize she was still speaking his language. She must have practiced—a lot. It must have been some sick joke from the powers that be, he thought, to bring him here, to her.

"Fine," he replied dismissively. He felt almost... disappointed to learn he hadn't been the only one then. But it was inevitable. There was a surge of jealousy in his chest and he pushed it back. He attempted to close his eyes and feign sleep, but a hand on his cheek made him look up.

She looked so sad, he couldn't imagine what would have put such a severe look on her smooth face. "Oh, Hanzar..." His eyes widened in surprise when he felt a tear drip onto his face. Ashamed she sat back and wrapped her arms around herself. The tears came quickly and he couldn't fathom the reason.

"Why...?" He sat up and felt it surprisingly easy. Realizing that this small elf held considerable emotional power over him, he reached out and lightly touched her cheek with his knuckles, as he had once done. "Don't cry, ridiculous elf."

Suddenly he felt arms around him. She was curled up to him, her fingers digging into his side as she shook with sobs. Her face was hidden in his chest and Hanzar, mystified, patted her head. What she was so upset about he didn't know—but surely she hadn't missed him. It had only been a fling, after all.

So when she raised her head and leaned into his ear, his spine went stiff, and she whispered into his ear, "It's yours."

With that she detached herself and stood rapidly, still shaking, and walked out of the small enclave.

He sat stunned. His mouth opened to form words but none came; instead, he made a kind of whimpering noise while his brain attempted to process what had been said.

"How—but, I mean," he sputtered. Jumping to his feet—and nearly falling when his right one failed to support him—he called, "Wait!" He jogged the way she went, not sure what to think, but knowing at once he didn't want her out of his sight.

Using trees to keep him aloft and hopping unbalanced between them, he hurried the way he thought she went. He could hear the sound of her brushing leaves and plants. "Come back here!" he shouted this time, knowing she had to hear him. He wondered why she kept running, and then he realized it.

"I'm not going to hurt you! Just come here!" Immediately he heard the footsteps ahead of him halt. Gasping with a lack of breath and the pain shooting through his leg, Hanzar finally saw her, leaning on a tree, her whole body shaking. He approached her slowly and paused just before he pulled her against him.

They were silent as he propped himself up against the tree and held the crying elf close against him. It was too much at once, but at once he found himself thinking of her not as a member of the Alliance, or an elf, or as anything but Garoul. Their time together had impacted him more than he had cared to admit. He had spent so long blocking her out of his mind, when it was really this that he needed.

For a moment, he wondered what Banik would say. Probably, "Strange, did not think, elfie and troll." Then he would laugh.

When it seemed her crying had somewhat subsided, he took her chin in his hand and tilted it up so he could look at her. "I haven't cried," she managed out. "I haven't. I didn't... you..." It was obvious she couldn't think of the words to express herself, so he only shook his head.

"You just need to worry about yourself," he told her. He couldn't even imagine what had befallen her, to be wandering the Ashenvale woods in the middle of a war, but he had an idea. The troll ran his hand through her hair and found it as soft as ever.

"After... I stayed at the bay, but when... I knew... it all broke." She cleared her throat, taking a step back from him. He didn't try to stop her. "They take me here. They left, too. We all did." She paused. "But I don't want. They be in Stormwind, or Darnassus, not here, not me. Away from war. Away from me." Hanzar took her arm and drew it away from her, enveloping her small hand in his. "I am selfish." He wondered where she had learned her Orcish—'selfish' was not a commonly used word.

He had no words for her. Instead he kissed her forehead and leaned back against the tree, bringing her with him. Her hands clutched his waist. As a troll, he had one duty; one honor: family. Whether or not he felt something for this woman was now irrelevant. If she told the truth—and he was sure she did—he would have to do something for her. Something to keep her and whatever bastard child she had safe.

"Don't worry," he said into her ear, "I will protect you."


	13. Part Three: Chapter Three

**Providence**

**Part Three**

**Chapter Three**

The next morning, Reich found the elf and troll under Garoul's blanket. He sighed and kicked Adelian awake, putting a finger to his lips when the druid sputtered to life. The human pointed at the two still asleep and his friend nodded. They rose, working the morning chores as quietly as they could.

Garoul thought she must have been dreaming when she opened her eyes and smelled the familiar smell, and saw blue before her eyes. She looked up and sure enough, Hanzar was fast asleep, one arm flung over his eyes while the other wrapped tightly around her waist. Her belly was pressed against his stomach but comfortably so, and she did not dare move for fear of ruining a moment she would never have dreamed possible.

When she finally did decide to get up and moving, she lightly prodded the troll's shoulder. He growled in his sleep, but did little else, so she instead kissed him on the neck. At this he opened one eye, looking delusional for a moment before he saw her with one eyebrow raised. "Good morning."

They sat up, and Garoul noticed her two friends were nowhere in sight. She got to her feet and walked to the fire they had started, and saw they had already cooked and gone. She shrugged. "I go bath," she said and, still somewhat nervous about him, began walking out of the grove. A hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"I'll go too."

They walked the few minutes to the large creek she knew was there from the last time they camped here. She had to support him as he walked, for his leg was still bloody and she guessed, also very painful. The group was working on a trek through Ashenvale, from where they would cross to Auberdine. They were plotting a path around Felwood and out of the way of the Alliance's advancing armies. After Reich found her still in Booty Bay after the months of winter had cleared and heard her problem, Garoul had wanted to return to Darnassus and seek hidden solitude there. Now, her plans had changed—at least, she hoped. She didn't want to be alone, but despite Reich and Adelian's offers to stay with her, she had adamantly refused. They had lives to live. Hers was gone.

That's how Garoul thought of it, anyway. The absolute last way she had wanted to spend her years had fallen on her like sack of bricks. But with the nature of her situation she wanted to return to a place somewhat friendly where she would be able to keep her strange child away from the world. She felt sorry for it already.

When they reached the creek the elf turned away before removing her clothes. Then, without looking back she stepped into the cool water and shivered some. Once she had mostly submerged and adjusted, she heard a loud splash and turned to see Hanzar come up, spluttering. The hair that was usually bound fell down his back, richly red and straight as straw. What his ears did not keep back covered his eyes, and with annoyance he brushed it away, only to have it drift back again.

While he was blind she swam over and stood on her toes, reaching up to brush away some of the long bangs. He stared down at her.

The sight was rather unfamiliar: her belly was large but smooth, not misshapen in the least—for some reason, he had always suspected such, but was glad to find it not to be true. He looked at her and, not having kept very decent track of time, asked, "How long has it been?"

She gave him a worried look and replied, "Almost six month." He furrowed his brow. It looked very large, but then again, he knew little of elves. "Will be ten month." He was surprised.

"Trollses are twelve," he told her, and leaned down to inspect her. Her breasts looked normal still, and he kneeled in the shallow water to press his ear against her belly button. There was the faintest hum of something, and Hanzar stood up once more. His elf's face was red and she was staring at him. "What?"

"Too big," she said, turning her back to him to walk to deeper water. There she leaned forward and dunked her head in the water to soak her hair. When she looked back and saw the troll's quizzical expression, she made a circular motion at her belly and said, again, "Too big. Ten month will be too big."

He understood. Following her into the deep water he wondered how nature dealt with such things—surely elves and trolls weren't that different, if they were capable of interbreeding. He had gone into the adventure fairly sure such a thing wasn't possible. She scrubbed her scalp with her fingers, and the troll sighed, pulling her hands away. She gasped when he piled her hair on her head, and beginning at her neck, began to massage upward. A satisfied sound escaped her lips when he ran his fingers down her ears and up, then worked down her neck to her back. The muscles that had become so tense melted in his hands. Her lower back was the worst, strained from the weight she carried, and when he moved to her hips she let out a sigh of relief. Finally he stood and put his arms around her shoulders, leaning forward to rest his chin on her head.

"Sorry," he said.

"Sorry?"

"That this happened to you. I didn't know."

"I, too." Her Orcish gave him a slight chuckle.

"Beautiful," he whispered in her ear in Common. She inhaled. "I now have question."

"Oh?" she asked, her heartbeat galloping with him in such close proximity.

"I stay," he began, "or go?"

For this, Garoul had not been prepared. She turned around then and stood on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck and tentatively kissed him. Hanzar returned it, his hands resting on her hips, and when they parted they stood for some time in the same position.

"Do what you want," she said then, and walked out of the creek. There she squeezed the water out of her hair with one hand and stood for some time, waiting for the cool breeze to dry her. The troll came out a minute later, following suit, still limping heavily. He put one hand on a tree and used the other to sloppily braid his hair. There was an awkward silence.

"I can't go back," he said suddenly. She looked at him curiously. "I won't be able to walk, after this. I can't fight. I can't..." He trailed off and Garoul slowly nodded her head.

"Me neither."


	14. Part Three: Chapter Four

_Last chapter woo! Will there be a sequel? Probably not, even though I started one. Maybe more WoW stories? There's a good chance. And if I do, they will be longer, sexier, and less stupid at the end. Haw._

_ Thanks for all your support, dudes.  
_**  
**

**Providence**

**Part Three**

**Chapter Four**

They developed a sort of combination of Orcish and Common between them. Adelian and Reich found it difficult to follow their conversations and much didn't try due to Hanzar's nearly incomprehensible Common accent.

What they did learn was the reason Hanzar entered the war to begin with.

"When I was a child, my sister, who was much older, was killed by humans. This would not have bothered me to the extent it has if it weren't for what they did with her: they placed her head on a post outside the village and threw her body out to be eaten by their foul dogs. The head was there for weeks until it was completely destroyed by vultures and weather. When I went in at night once, to try to get it back, they shot me." He gestured to a scar in his shoulder and rubbed it. "I give back as good as I get. Every human I have ever killed I beheaded and left it where those who knew him would find it."

Reich kept his mouth closed for Garoul's benefit. Adelian merely looked on, clearly ashamed—as he always was. He was not one for the unsavory.

The troll traveled with them to the border of Ashenvale. Reich was not surprised by their decision there—he had overheard their late night conversation, and understood enough of it to know.

When they saw the ruins ahead that marked the boundary of Ashenvale and Darkshore, Garoul and Hanzar nodded to one another. "Adelian, come here." The druid looked confusedly at his fellow elf but did as he was told. There she kissed him on the cheek, much to his delight, and gave him a tight hug. The tall druid hugged her back tentatively. "Hopefully, I will see you again." He gave her a quizzical look, but when he turned to ask Reich the human only shook his head.

"I saw this coming," he said with a slight laugh. Before she could ask he enveloped her in a hug, despite her overlarge belly and kissed her on the forehead. "Oh Gari, I'll miss you," he said quietly. "If he does anything to not take care of you, just call me and he'll be dead by morning." With that he squeezed her one more time.

"Thank you for everything," she said, and not wanting to make it any worse, she waved and walked back to where the troll stood, waiting. Taking her hand entirely in his, he guided her back into the forest, where they disappeared.

Adelian looked at his warrior friend. "Do you know where they'll go?"

Reich nodded his head and said, "They'll be fine."

--

Though it had taken some work to get there separately, for both of them were relative refugees, they managed to arrive in the Arathi Highlands without too much delay. Hanzar was loathe to leave his life as a warrior, but with his leg healed and still very much a hindrance, he could do very little but kill the slowest of animals. They had decided on a place before they left Kalimdor, but solidified their plans on the boat ride from Ratchet to Booty Bay.

"Just outside Refuge Point," she had told him. "There are nice plots of land near the mountains there." And so it was they met at a farm she had mentioned there, and set about building something reasonable. They both had large bags of money, unspent for various reasons, and pooled their money to buy a house—the wood, the labor and the plan. They were nearly toppled by the cost of rushing the project, but they kept enough to stay at their respective inns.

After no more than a few weeks the small stead was complete. It all seemed rather surreal to Garoul, who found the place quite comfortable. There was no more than a bed, a bath, an oven and a table, but there was little else she could think of to need. Hanzar erected a few signs in the dirt yard saying "Keep out," and "Danger," in both Orcish and Common, with pictures of skulls and crossbones just to make the message clear.

Their first night Garoul sat in the bath, stretched out rather ungracefully when Hanzar joined her. Leaning forward he inspected her belly again and sighed. "You're right—too big."

"I can't really walk anymore," she said, then laughed. "Sort of like you! We'll both be cripples." The troll rolled his eyes, but nodded his head.

"I don't want to be worrisome but this isn't looking that good," he said with a sigh. Garoul could only agree. Carefully weaving his arms around her backside, Hanzar pulled her into his lap and grunted a little with the effort. "Rather heavy, I'll admit," and she laughed.

Life had become like this: they were comfortable with one another and began to find things they rather liked about the other. Hanzar found his elf to be smart and quick, with a stubborn side about her work. For every animal he brought in to be cooked up, she skinned it, stretched it, and worked something sellable out of it. With the profits they bought vegetables and bread, household items and more working supplies. Garoul had begun doing the shopping in the nearby Pointe, but when she could no longer walk, Hanzar instead made a trip every week to Hammerfall.

One evening nearly two months after they had arrived, the elf was propped up on a pillow soaping a finished glove when she felt a searing pain race from her hips to her chest.

"Hanz!" she yelled. Hearing no reply, she shouted, "Hanzar!" There was the sound of stomping outside and the troll ran in.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Something's happening!"

For some weeks he had heard the increasingly loud sound of a heartbeat and Garoul often complained of movement, and it was only a matter of time. It was far earlier than either of them expected, but nevertheless Hanzar fetched more pillows and set about to the arduous task of waiting.

He had rather grown used to his somewhat domestic life, for most of the time it was his elf taking care of him then the other way around. She managed herself extremely well and he admired her for that; it wasn't long that he knew he loved her. That was all right with him.

Hanzar had been carrying her to the bath when her water broke. Quickly she washed and they removed once more to the bed, which he had changed to old sheets. Neither of them knew what to expect, and the troll invested his faith in nature to keep Garoul safe.

The process had been brutal on her, he knew, at the end: she had tried to keep back her cries of pain, and he wondered if she would burst. But it had passed without incident.

The boy was of a light purple, and his round face was decorated by long blue markings that ran from his forehead to his cheeks. He had been born without tusks, but his jaws were wide enough that Hanzar knew they would grow soon; the child's hair was a vibrant, deep purple and he was much smaller than the average troll baby. His ears were impressively large, the troll noted, and smiled.

Hanzar had to admit, seeing his elf tiredly nursing the child, he had no real fault with it.

--

"Loren!" Garoul yelled outside. "Get in here now! Dinner is ready!"

Hanzar looked up as the boy stomped his feet and dashed inside. The troll followed suit, wiping his feet at the door before coming inside.

He usually cooked but tonight, his wife—as he had come to calling her—took it upon herself instead. Afterwards, he decided she didn't get to cook ever again.

Loren, the vibrant and energetic boy, had grown much more quickly than either of his parents expected. When he wanted to go outdoors his mother applied make up to his face to cover his markings and then sent him out to play. His tusks were also rather impressive, though he lacked the usual strong facial structure of other trolls. He often went to Hammerfall to look around, but his father kept a close eye on him when he was out alone. He knew a human would find it the greatest sport to kill a young troll wandering around the highlands, so he kept the boy close when he went hunting. His leg never healed and so he trained his son early to use a bow and sword, making him into a rather impressive fighter and hunter.

Garoul would often travel with her finished goods to Booty Bay, where she sold them to the gnome woman that owned the shop there. The elf's goods were known to be some of the best around, and she made a decent profit from her sales. They grew a yard and a small vegetable garden, which Hanzar managed while Garoul did the shopping and worked in the leather shop she had arranged to have built beside the house. They had become rather clever in hiding that both of them lived there: all of Hammerfall believed the troll lived there alone with his son, and due to the signs that still remained outside, no one visited them. It was a lonely life, but a good one.

Loren was asleep when Hanzar went to extinguish the lamp and instead saw his elf on the bed, wearing very close to nothing and giving him a 'come hither' look. One eyebrow raised he leaned over her and kissed her, then lay down beside her. Making sure to keep the sound down, they made love for nearly an hour before they collapsed, exhausted. Garoul, giggling, pressed her hands to his chest. "I'll never get tired of that," she admitted, and the troll could only stare at her.

"I don't know how you're still so delicious," he replied, licking her face like a dog, which caused her to laugh even harder.

"You know," she said, running her hand down his stomach to run her fingers over him. He jumped, not expecting her to go twice in a row. She seemed to be merely exploring, though, and she continued. "Loren's getting older. Do you think, maybe... we should let him out?"

Hanzar blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe you could take him to Booty Bay with you sometime. Somewhere he can meet others like him."

He laughed. "I would have to drag him all the way to Durotar for that." Suddenly, he blinked. "You know, it might not be a bad idea."

"What do you mean?"

The troll sighed. "To see Banik. I sent him a letter the other day. I told him some of it, but he still has questions. Maybe we could visit. If we wrapped you in a hooded cloak and gave Loren his makeup, we could pass as a refugee family."

"We'll see," was Garoul's reply.

**The Freakin'-End**


End file.
